


Nobodies

by thehotinpsychotic



Category: Frank Iero - Fandom, Gerard Way - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, frerard - Fandom
Genre: Bullying, Frerard, High School AU, M/M, School, bullying au, bullying tw, school au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 30,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehotinpsychotic/pseuds/thehotinpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard's a bit of a misfit. He has zero friends to his name; unless his brother, who is a seventh grader weighing in at about 102 pounds, counts as one. Frank, spotting this awkward boy, decides to make his living Hell. Later, we find why Frank is so full of rage, and Gerard begins to fall in love with him over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: THIS IS NOT THE ONLY CHAPTER!

            “Hey, faggot,” Frank greets.

            I rush down the hall, running into kids as I scurry to get away from him.

            “Where are you going?” Frank demands. He’s small, but he can still shove through a hoard of kids. It’s this fucking authoritarian figure he’s got going on; all of the kids are afraid of him, and I think that even some of the teachers are.

            So, since I’m Gerard Way, prime loser of the school with 0 friends and not counting, and also the guy that Frank Iero, school tyrant, happens to be after, everyone goes out of their way to either stand in front of me or bump into me, one boy even shoving me back towards Frank.

            I duck into a bathroom, praying that maybe a teacher or someone is in there that will get Frank to leave me alone. Alas, it is empty. I head for the door, when it swings open, Frank looking innocent. He does a quick scan of the room, and once he realizes it’s empty, a giant, evil grin spreads across that face of his.

            “Tsk tsk, Gerard,” he sighs. He chuckles his high, girly laugh, “Of all the places to hide in a school: libraries, teacher’s rooms, fucking cafeterias….” Frank smiles. “You picked a bathroom.”

            I back up, and Frank advances on me, slowly walking towards me. I bump into a urinal, and Frank shoves me into it, flushing it so my ass gets all wet. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m willing to bet that you’re just aching for a beating.”

            I glance over at the clock, which reads 8:28. The bell rings in two minutes. If I could just find a way to stall…

            I run for the door, but Frank catches me around the middle, body slamming me onto the tile floor. He kicks me in the ribs, and then kneels next to me, holding my head in place by the hair as he delivers a series of punches to my nose and jaw.

            “Are you crying, Way?” Frank chuckles.

            Shit, when did I start crying? I wipe my eyes, but the tears just fall faster, and my body begins to tremble.

            “You’re such a cry baby, you girl,” Frank scoffs. “I touch you, and you burst out bawling.” He laughs some more as I try to stop crying, holding it in for a few seconds, just so I sob twice as loud when I can’t hold it in any longer. “You can stop crying now, dyke. It’s getting pathetic; even I’m not enjoying this anymore.”

            I continue to weep, unable to control myself. Frank strips my bag off of my shoulders, dumping it into a nearby toilet. His giggling comes from the stall over, and he chortles,

            “I’m trying to flush your Algebra II book, but it just won’t go!”

            He throws my bag on top of me as the bell rings, dismissing, “Well, I’ve got to go. Real fun hanging out with you, dyke.”

            I sniffle as I head over to the toilet, screwing my eyes shut as I dig out all of the supplies that can be spared. Certain things, such as my pencils and pens, can simply not be salvaged; as they have been either flushed down the toilet or are way down at the bottom, where I’m not willing to reach. I wrap everything in a huge wad of paper towels, stuffing it all into my bag. I hurry as fast as I can, but I’m still late for TAG.

            My teacher, Ms. Shelby, she really gets me. I come in late, but she doesn’t mention it or even glance my way. I’m not sure if she pities me or just feels for me, but either way, I’m pretty positive that I could get away with murder as long as she was the judge. I suppose I am quite pitiful, greasy black hair in tangles, skinny frame, and bags under my eyes. Not only that, but I believe that today, when I walked in the room my eyes were still red from crying. If I wasn’t required to wear uniforms, I’m sure that my apparel would be pathetic as well, seeing as on the weekends I wear nothing but holy jeans exposing my bony legs and ratty t shirts. After her usual announcements, she sends us over to the computers for our online classes. I’m in the middle of my Sociology class when she kneels next to me, placing one of her hands on my shoulder.

            “Gerard, are you okay?” she whispers, so the other students won’t hear.

            I nod, biting my lip. Just her asking that makes me want to sob some more, and I feel guilty for lying to such a nice teacher, who isn’t asking me this because she’s required to- but because she’s genuinely concerned for my well-being.

            “Are you sure?” she questions. She places a hand on my forearm, assuring, “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

            I look over at her, forcing a smile. “I’m okay, Ms. Shelby. Thanks for looking out for me, though.”

            She nods, but frowns, almost as if she can tell that she’s not getting the truth. She pats me on the shoulder as she walks past, going across the room to help a kid with their hand up.

            I’m walking home from school, like I do every day. I don’t have a school permit, or even a learner’s permit as a fifteen teen year old sophomore, the reason why being that I doubted that I’d ever need it, seeing as I didn’t think I’d live past seventeen. I thought I would’ve offed myself by then, and if not, at least wound up in the hospital for some reason or another, whether it being drugs, cutting, or an attempt.

            I see a pickup pull up a few feet behind me. I try to walk faster, but fucking Frank steps out of it. He runs up, grabbing me by the bag and spitting,

            “Hey, dyke! Fancy seeing you here!”

            “I walk this way every day,” I growl.

            Frank picks me up by my bag. For being sixteen and 5’6”, he’s really fucking strong. “Well, wrestling practice is cancelled, so I’m lucky enough to be your acquaintance this afternoon.”

            “Please leave me alone!” I beg.

            Frank drops me, still clutching onto my backpack. “What was that? Can you repeat it for me?”

            “I’m really not in the fucking mood right now, okay?” I snap.

            “Whoa, cat’s got claws!” Frank exclaims. “Gerard, I love this bitchy new side of you. Surely, breast implants will be the next step in your transformation to mega bitch. Because honey, these,” Frank reaches around me, twisting my nipples through my shirt. “These just won’t cut it.”

            “Ow!” I yelp, squirming free. “Quit it!”

            Frank grins, shoving me. “Quit what?” He shoves me again, telling, “You’ve got to be specific!”

            “Stop fucking with me!” I bark.

            “Aw, look at you, trying to be tough,” Frank teases. “If I were gay like you, I’d think it’s adorable.”

            “I’m… I’m not trying to be tough!” I retort.

            “Oh, yeah,” Frank mocks. “You are tough.” He shoves me again, sending me back onto my ass. I begin to scoot away from him, but he presses his heel against my crotch, warning, “One wrong word, and I’m castrating your two inch dick.”

            “Actually, castration occurs in the testicles,” I correct. “It’s when they’re taken out.”

            Why am I such a fucking idiot? Goodbye dick, Frank surely stomped the Hell out of it. I obviously tear up, because hello, my cock got fucking terminated! But Frank, being the asshole he is, laughs again.

            “Wow Gerard, two times you’ve cried in one day. Are you on your period?”

            I have enough strength in me to shake my head. I curl into a fetal position, clutching my manhood as if my life depended on it. Frank places one of his size 5 Converses on my side, pulling out his phone.

            “Smile, Gerard! This one’s going to my buddies.”

            I muster up the courage to flip off the camera. My valor is rewarded with a swift kick to the hip, and I yelp out as pure bone is met with solid shin.

            “Bye dyke, have a good weekend!” he chuckles, leaving. He drives by, and I lay on the ground, watching his tail lights burn out in the distance. 


	2. Chapter 2

            The weekend ends all too quickly. Granted, I spend most of it sleeping, so why the fuck wouldn’t it? All I know is that on Monday, I really don’t want to go to fucking school. I have 99 problems, and 97 of them are Frank Iero.

            I show up to school, and right away I have to piss, which is perfect, seeing as Frank recently told me that bathrooms are one of the worst places for me to be. I go anyways, cause I feel like I’m about to piss myself.

            I’m halfway through peeing when Frank walks in, strutting over. He picks me up by the back to my Lord of the Rings boxers and presses me against the back of the urinal, which, is not only disgusting and painful, but also gets piss all over the front of my jeans. He releases me, whooping,

            “Cute undies, geek!”

            “Shut up, Frodo Baggins,” I growl.

            Frank grabs me by the back of my hair, spitting, “What was that, dyke?”

            “I said, you’re right,” I lie.     

            “Damn right!” Frank shouts. He slams my head against the wall, making it throb like Hell. “I’ll be seeing you soon, little girl!”

            I get to the art room, to see a new kid sitting there. It’s a girl, and she has these great big puppy brown eyes and black hair pulled into a high ponytail. My dick gives a happy leap, and I check to see that I don’t have a boner before sitting next to her. I silently pass her, getting out my paints and everything I need. I get four different kinds of brushes, five paints, and a paper plate for mixing colors.

            The girl cocks her head at me, pointing at all of my supplies. “What do you need all these for?”   

            I sigh, ready for her to make fun of me. “I’m painting Batman, so I need lots of different shades of paint.”

            She nods, replying, “That’s cool.” She picks up the smallest brush, which only has about four or five hairs on it, hardly enough to even qualify as a brush. “What’s this little guy for?”

            I take it from her hands, setting it back down in line with the others. “Different brushes perform different tasks.”

            “You know, you’re kind of high strung,” she deducts.

            “High strung?” I repeat, a little offended.

            She nods. “Just go like this. Take a deep breath, and then shake your arms!”

            “No thanks,” I scoff.

            “See? You’re uptight!” she squeaks, elbowing me.

            “Well I have a reason to be, don’t I?” I mutter.

            She grazes her fingertips against one of the bruises along my jawline, and I flinch away. It’s become an automatic response of mine, cringing whenever someone touches any of my injuries, the ones made by Frank, and the ones I’ve inflicted upon myself. “What happened there?”

            “None of your business happened, that’s what,” I scowl.

            “Rawr!” she jokes. “I like you. You’re weird.”

            “Gee, thanks,” I mumble.

            “No, really,” she insists. She touches my arm lightly. “People like you are hard to come by.”

            I finally smile, and ask, “What’s your name?”

            She beams, seemingly happy that I’m taking an interest in her as well. “My name’s Jamia, and I’m a freshman. Yourself?”

            “I’m a sophomore, and my name’s Gerard,” I respond.

            “Ooh, I like your name,” she compliments. She begins to doodle aimlessly in her notebook. Most girls would draw their names in swoopy letters, or the names of their paramour. Jamia instead draws a werewolf.      

            “Thanks,” I breathe, settling into my chair and starting painting. Jamia and I chat throughout the period, since our art teacher happens to be awesome and lets us talk to our content as long as we work while doing it.

            By the end of the period, we’ve exchanged phone numbers with the promise to text each other tonight. Jamia smacks me on the butt as she walks out, and laughs as she watches me turn bright red.

            “Don’t worry, I do that to everyone,” she tells.

            “Great,” I respond sarcastically.

            I’m in the lunch room, sitting by myself, as usual, when Frank walks over. So, he’s going to settle for emotional torment, since all of the teachers standing around won’t let him lay a finger on me.

            “Hey, dyke. Hook up with any hot girls?” he smirks.

            I consider giving Jamia’s name, but don’t, in fear that he will continue to call me a girl. Not only that, but it’d be a little bit of an insult to her. She’s way more than a hot girl. “N-no.”

            “I have wrestling practice after school,” Frank informs. He raps his knuckles on the table as he continues, “So, sadly, I won’t be able to join you this weekend on your daily trudge home.”

            How ironic. Frank’s out for wrestling. Not only does he beat the shit out of me, but he does it to other kids as a fucking sport. He has done wrestling moves on me before, just the other week he had me in a full nelson. Not only that, but when he did it, I could feel his dick pressing into my ass through his tight skinny jeans and…. And I kind of liked it.

            Jamia sets her tray down across from me, sitting down as “who’s your friend?”

            “oh my God, you’ve tricked this poor, deluded girl into not only hanging out with you, but also into believing you could have a friend?!” Frank guffaws. “How’d you swing that? Did you seduce her with that 3 inch lap hog of yours?”

             Hey, yesterday he said 2 inches when referring to my dick. According to him, it’s an inch bigger. That’s progress! I still redden, though.

            “What is your problem, short stack?” Jamia demands.

            Frank holds his hands up. “I have the opposite of a problem. I’m just making sure you know what you’re getting into in hanging out with queer bait over here.”

            “I know exactly what I’m getting into, thank you very much,” Jamia growls.

            “I don’t think you do,” Frank responds. He smiles, and then shoves me around so my back’s to him. He holds me in place with one arm as he pulls up my LOTR boxers with the others. He releases me after a few seconds, and I try to tuck my underwear back into my jeans as he tells Jamia, “See, the dork’s got Star Wars undies.”

            “It’s actually Lord of the Rings,” I grumble.

            Frank turns to me, barking, “You think I give two shits, fag?”

            “I haven’t had the pleasure of learning your name, midget,” Jamia snarls.

            “It’s actually Frank, but you can call me whatever you want,” Frank allows.

            “I’m Jamia. Now, Frank, do me a favor and leave me with my associate Gerard here for a moment, if you would,” Jamia hisses.

            “My pleasure,” Frank replies, standing. He pulls me into a headlock, grinding his knuckles into my skull. He then pushes me away, cursing, “Bye dyke.”

            Jamia’s jaw drops. “Did that little shit just call me a dyke?”

            I shake my head. “I’m the dyke.

            Jamia questions, “What’s that kid’s problem?”

            I shrug. “He’s picked on me since 8th grade."

            “Why? He wouldn’t do that for no reason,” Jamia persists.

            “I have no idea,” I answer honestly.

            Jamia gasps, and again runs her fingernails against my battered jawline. “Oh my God! Did he do this?”

            I nod, and she clasps a hand over her mouth. She hugs me tightly, rubbing my back, between my shoulder blades.

            “By the way, um, thanks for being cool when he…. You know….” I bow my head and mumble. “Showed you my underwear and all.”

            Jamia chuckles slowly, blushing slightly as she tells, “I actually thought they were kind of cute.”

            I duck my head again because I know I must be scarlet. Jamia slides closer to me, placing a hand on my tense thigh as she purrs into my ear,

            “I think you’re pretty cute.”

            She nips softly at my earlobe. I squirm away, sputtering,

            “Fuck I’m sorry, I really am. I can’t do it.”

            “Why not?” Jamia pouts. ‘We could find somewhere more private if that’s what’s bothering you…”

            “That’s not it at all,” I continue. “Jamia…. I’m….. I’m gay,” I confess.

            Jamia turns red as a tomato as she repeatedly apologizes.

            “It’s okay; you didn’t know,” I excuse.

            Jamia’s quiet for a while, and then she nudges me. “So? Do you like anyone?”

            I feel myself get pink as I lie, “N-no. Of course not.”

            “Oh, you do!” Jamia squeals. “So? Who’s the lucky guy?”

            “Shut up!” I exclaim. ‘No one, okay?”

            Jamia just smiles this dumb grin. “You love someone.”

            I can’t say she’s wrong again, because she’s absolutely right. I love Frank Iero. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! Please comment, and check out my other fics! New chapter should be up soon!
> 
> Anonymous or non anonymous prompts or questions can be sent here: www.frerard-is-the-weapon.tumblr.com/ask
> 
> Follow my fanfiction blog! - www.frerard-is-the-weapon.tumblr.com  
> Follow my regular blog (MCR, Supernatural, Doctor Who) - www.haruka-loves-rin.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

Frank finds me in the halls the next day, in the short fifteen minutes I have to relax before first period. Not today, anyways.

            Frank storms over. He has a black eye, and a cut on the bridge of his nose. His face is battered and scraped, and he looks pissed.   

            He picks me up by the collar to my shirt, demanding, “Have you been talking shit, dyke?”

            Frank’s scaring me. He’s always kind of scary, but usually he never yells at me, and normally he’s having fun picking on me. But now, he’s just acting really angry and aggressive. And it’s extremely frightening.

            “I haven’t been, I swear,” I insist.

            “Bullshit!” Frank curses, slamming my back against the wall.          

            “What’s wrong?” I ask, ignoring the searing pain in my back.

            “Mind your own business!” Frank squeaks. His eyes are red and swollen. Shit, he’s been crying. “The point is, someone’s been talking badly about me, and I need to know who!”

            “Frank, calm down,” I coax. “It’s okay, really.”

            Frank sets me down, falling to his knees and crying. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

            “Tell me what’s wrong,” I instruct. It’s horribly bittersweet to see Frank like this- on one hand- he’s done this to me how many times! Surely he deserves a turn! But on the other hand- I hate to see him hurt.

            Frank is sobbing too hard to talk. I ask,

            “Is it a girlfriend?”

            Frank shakes his head.

            “Pet died?” I guess.

            Again, his head shakes.

            “Parents?” I question.

            Frank suddenly stands, tackling me and pinning me to the floor. “You shut the fuck up about my parents, you little shit!”

            “So it is your parents then?” I respond.

            Frank gets all flustered, his pink lips agape. He reddens, swearing, “Shut the fuck up! You’re…. you’re a little bitch! You don’t know shit about my parents!” He punches me in the jaw, right on one of my bruises, ordering, “Don’t you ever talk about them again, o-okay?!”

            “Okay!” I agree, wincing from pain.

            Frank gets off of me, placing his knee into my crotch on purpose as he rises, causing me to cry out in pain. “Bye, dyke.”

            Jamia rushes over, shouting at Frank, “Yeah you better leave!” she kneels next to me, worrying, “Oh my gosh, Gerard are you okay? I saw the whole thing and I ran over but he was already gone.”

            “I’m fine,” I assure. She helps me up, but my knees are still buckled as my cock feels like it’s about to fall off.

            “What was he all roid ragey about?” Jamia asks.

            “Something about his parents,” I reply.

            Jamia glances in the direction Frank stomped off in. “His face was pretty banged up. You don’t think his parents….”

            “What?” I cut off. “Come on, of course not! I’m sure he just pissed someone off and got jumped, this wouldn’t be the first time.”

            “It’s happened before?” Jamia questions.

            I nod. “Yeah, just like a month ago or so… had a real smashed up face, not as bad as this time, though. This is probably the worst I’ve ever seen him.”

            “Oh,” Jamia answers. And she drops the topic for the rest of the day.

            I see Frank in the hallways during guided study. He smiles at me, and even waves. I’m extremely confused. Maybe he appreciates me helping him out this morning? Some people would find their sworn enemy waving at them a bad omen, but I decide to accept it as a good thing, since the guy I freaking love is finally showing an interest in me. We’re heading towards each other, and I’m about to wave back when he suddenly trips me, dragging me by the ankles into a nearby restroom.

            I thrash against him, but it’s no use, and I’m dragged in. “Let me go!” I scream.

            Frank punches me in the stomach, warning, “If you make one more noise I will rip your dick off and shove it down your throat!”

            I’m quiet after that. Frank gets onto the ground, pulling me into an arm bar.

            “Are you making up shit about me?” he growls.

             My forearm is pressed against his dick, and I can feel it through his skinny jeans. I feel myself get hard, and begin to sweat bullets as I try to make it go down. Frank gazes down and notices, declaring, “Good morning, Vietnam! Looks like little Gerard is up and at em!”

            Frank shoves away from me, spitting, “You’re such a freak! What’s wrong with you?”

            He’s leaving when I do something I automatically regret.

            “Hey Frank! Did your parents do that to you?” I call.

            Frank pivots, his eyes hot with anger and his mouth curled into a sneer. He kicks me in the ribs repeatedly, shouting,

            “Don’t… *kick* you *kick* ever *kick* talk *kick* shit *kick* about my *kick* family!” He then stomps on my hip, causing me to squeal in pain. He spits on me before he leaves, his Converses thudding against the tile.

            I pull myself to my feet, limping as I head back to guided study. I sit next to Jamia, who is all over me.

            “What happened? Are you okay? Did Frank do this? He did, didn’t he? I’ll kill him!”

            “No, no, Jamia, don’t kill him,” I plead. “Come on, please.”

            “Why don’t you want me to?” Jamia asks. “Why are you defending him?”

            “I’m not!” I lie. “I’m just…. Some shit’s going on with him right now, so you leave him alone!”

            “So he can pick on you and beat on you all he likes, but he doesn’t deserve to have it done to him,” Jamia scoffs.

            “Well, nobody deserves it,” I mutter.

            “Anyone who’s fucked up enough in the head to harm another human being deserves to have unspeakable things done to them,” Jamia hisses.

            “Frank… isn’t that bad of a guy,” I admit, even though it comes out more like a question.

            “Isn’t that bad of a guy?” Jamia repeats. “Are you kidding me? He calls you a dyke, he punched you in the face, he kneed you in the crotch… he’s… he’s an asshole!”

            “Well, if his parents do beat him, doesn’t…. it’s not really his fault he’s a jerk…” I mutter.

            “Not his fault? Gerard, just because he has daddy issues doesn’t give him a pass to be a giant douche!” Jamia reasons.

            “I know but….” I sigh. “I don’t know where I’m going with this. But, I just can’t be mad at him.”

            “Why are…..” Jamia gasps. “You’re not… he’s not the one you love, is he?”

            My silence only confirms Jamia’s question.

            I start to cry, the tears rolling down my cheeks and picking up speed on their journey.

            Jamia apologizes, “Gerard, I’m so sorry.”

            “Don’t be mad,” I weep.

            Jamia takes my hand, lacing her fingers with mine. “Oh honey, I’m not mad at all. I just… how did you manage to fall in love with someone like that?”

            I shrug weakly. “I have a talent for falling for everyone who won’t love me back.”

            Jamia frowns, and hugs me. She kisses me on the cheek, and combs her fingers through the back of my hair. “It’s okay, sweetie. Don’t be upset.”

            I get home. It was quite a bummer day, what with Frank being more of an ass than usual, and possibly even finding out I love him. If only my cock hadn’t decided to fucking stand at attention at that moment. Jamia seemed disappointed in me too.

            I lie on my bed, crying my eyes out. I reach under my mattress, retrieving my pocket knife. I roll up my shirt and press it against my ribcage, slowly digging it in and dragging it across the skin. After four deep, deep cuts I’m about to quit, but then I remember disappointing Jamia. I cut myself again for being such a shitty friend, and then hurry to my bathroom, wrapping gauze around it and tightening it with medical tape.

            I fall asleep, crimson blood soaking through the bandages. When I wake up, I pray that it’ll be a better day. Most of all, I pray that Frank’s okay. Somewhere, deep in the pit of my stomach, I have this really horrible feeling that Frank’s parents are the ones beating him around his own house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment, and check out my other fics! New chapter should be up soon, but I'm writing like four right now, so please be patient!
> 
> Anon or not prompts/questions can be sent here: www.frerard-is-the-weapon.tumblr.com/ask
> 
> Follow my fanfiction blog! - www.frerard-is-the-weapon.tumblr.com  
> Follow my regular blog - www.haruka-loves-rin.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

            I limp slightly on my walk to school. I neglected to take pain killers or anything, so all throughout the walk my cuts burn and sting with each step.

            Frank pulls up behind me in his pickup, so I start to run, trying to ignore the searing pain in my side. I make it to the school, but Frank tails me, chasing me all the way up until the third floor, where he catches up and tackles me. He again pulls me into an adjacent bathroom, my fingernails clawing desperately against the floor.

            Upon closer inspection, Frank’s face is in even worse shape than yesterday. He seems just as strong however, as he pins me to the floor. He kneels on top of me, my wrists in his hands.

            “This really isn’t funny anymore, Gerard!” Frank yells. He has that same crazed, wounded look in his eye.

            He actually called me Gerard. Not faggot, little girl, not even dyke. Something must really be wrong.

            “What isn’t?!” I reply. I love Frank, but I’m getting tired of him screaming at me when I don’t even know what’s going on.

            “Making up rumors that I’m gay!” Frank retorts.

            “There’s rumors about that?” I question softly.

            Frank looks like he’s about to cry. He shakes his head, banging my hands against the ground as he shouts, “Shut up! Just stop talking!”

            He stands, kicking me in the ribs. From the cool sensation in my side, I can tell that my cuts have been opened.

            “Frank, you know you can talk to me about anything,” I remind.

            “Fuck you!” Frank spits before storming out.

            I walk up to the mirror, lifting my shirt to assess the damage. Blood is soaking through the gauze, and there’s some bruises forming around it. I put some paper towels over the spots with blood sopping though, ripping off a piece of the medical tape to make sure that the paper towels stay in play. I secure it before leaving, flapping my shirt back down as I step out into the hall. I run directly into Jamia, who is taken off her feet by me.

            I apologize over and over as I help her up. She brushes herself off, replying,

            “No biggie. How was your piss?”

            “Actually, Frank dragged me in there,” I admit.

            “What’d that little asshole want?” Jamia scoffs. I shoot her a disapproving look, reminding her that I kind of really love him. She bows her head and mumbles a sorry.

            “It’s okay,” I mutter. “Did you know someone made up a rumor that he’s gay?”

            Jamia knits her brows. “Is that why he got beat up?”

            I thought his parents had done it, but the idea of some punk ass kids beating him up actually makes a lot more sense. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time a student here was attacked for their sexual preference. It’s a huge reason why I don’t reveal the fact to I’m gay except when I have to, for instance, when Jamia was coming onto me.

            I nod, informing, “I think so. And he looks even worse than yesterday.”

            “Do you really think that?” Jamia whispers.

            “What?”

            “That…. You know… he’s gay? That would explain why he uses the term ‘dyke’ so much. Maybe he’s just trying to cover his tracks?” Jamia suggests.

            “I…. I don’t know,” I lie. Actually, I’m pretty sure that Frank is straight. Straight as a horse, which isn’t great for me, who is, on one hand, gay as a kookaburra, and, on the other hand, horribly in love with him.

            “I think he is,” Jamia tells. “He’s so infatuated with you. I actually think he might like you.”

            “If he liked me, then why would he beat my ass left and right and accuse me of starting a shitty rumor about him?” I question.

            Jamia shrugs, responding, “I dunno. It was just a thought.”

            I see Frank sitting outside after school. He looks like he’s been crying. He’s sitting in the front seat of his truck, and appears to be listening to music by the way his head’s nodding. He has… is that a cigarette? It is! He has a cigarette between his lips, and sweet Lord does he look hot twirling it in his fingers.

            I decide to take my chances, because he really looks like he’s hurting. I knock on the window. Frank jumps, and then glowers at me. He rolls down the window, letting cigarette smoke pour out as he stops the music, which I recognized as Fall Out Boy’s “What A Catch, Donnie”.

            “What do you want?” he grumbles.

            “I… I want to know if you’re okay,” I answer.

            Frank glares at me, his wide hazel eyes glazed over with tears. “Do I look okay?”

            “No,” I mutter, kicking up some dirt from the ground.

            Frank scoffs. “Well, I am.”

            “Frank, I’m sorry about all you’re going through,” I share. I shoot him my sympathetic look, to which he snorts and digs through his car, pulling out a bottle of beer.

            I back up with shock as he takes off the top and takes a long swig, shuddering from the effect of the alcohol.

            “What? Never seen a sixteen year old chain smoke and drink?” Frank jokes.

            “I….” I respond. I can’t find words. I don’t know if I want to be mad, scared, or worried for him.

            “So, Gerard,” Frank begins. He flicks his cigarette out the window, and it narrowly misses my shoulder. He grins crookedly, and unlocks his car with a beep, asking,

            “Do you want to talk about this or what?”

            I bite my lip, contemplating. I choose to help the poor kid; maybe all he needs is someone to talk to. I climb into the passenger seat, grateful that he’s actually being nice to me and inviting me into his world.

            Frank dips his fingers into his coat pocket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. He smacks the top against his palm until one is out in his hand. He puts it away, and places the cigarette between his lips. He searches himself for his lighter, and then asks me,

            “Got a light?”

            I pull out my lighter, which I got from my old school friend Ray.

            Frank smiles that lopsided grin as I light it for him, saying,

            “So you’re not a goody two shoes after all.”

            I laugh, and Frank beams over at me. “Buckle up; I don’t want to get a ticket.”

            I do as I’m told, and we pull out of the school parking lot, heading towards God knows where. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and check out my other fics! New chapter should be up soon!
> 
> Follow my fanfiction blog- www.frerard-is-the-weapon.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

            On the ride there, Frank is quiet, his cigarette pressed tightly between his bright pink lips. Halfway through (I know the route to Frank’s house, long story that will be explained later), he must recognize whatever song is playing, because he cranks up the radio, and a smile finds its way onto his face.      

            The singer has a growly, angsty voice that catches my attention. I break the silence, asking Frank,

            “What song is this?”

            Frank shouts, “ ‘You’re All I’ve Got Tonight!’ ” over the roaring music.

            Hearing Frank tell me that, even though, in reality, he’s screaming a song title at me, it makes my stomach vibrate with butterflies.

            Once we get there, ultimate nostalgia sets in as I step into the front porch area of the house. Things have changed immensely since I’ve been here; Frank’s shoes are no longer light ups, and his coat no longer bares a puppy on the sleeve.

            We step into the house after removing our jackets and shoes, and I gape at the den, which has a complete new color scheme along with all new furniture.

            Frank sees me and rolls his eyes as he explains, “We redecorated. Follow me upstairs.”

            He starts up the steps, and I tail him close behind. We get to his room, which has- no joke, his bed up on a balcony type deal about nine feet up. A metal ladder leans against the edge of the platform. It’s blogging worthy, and I’m kind of tempted to take a picture. Sure, he’s always had that in his room, but as a kid, he just had a giant wall of stuffed animals up there, because he was too afraid of heights to even be up there let alone sleep there. I guess he’s gotten over it, or he’s just learnt how to manage it.

            Frank sits down on a futon under the balcony, and motions for me to sit next to him. I do as I’m told, sitting stiff against the back.

            “So, what do you want to know?” Frank asks.

            “First off,” I begin nervously. I’ve seen the worst of Frank’s temper, and how quickly he can be pushed there. I’m really hoping he doesn’t get upset with me as I continue, “Do you have any idea who would start a rumor like that? Or why?”

            Frank exhales and places his arms behind his head as he answers, “Honestly, I really did think it was you.”

            My heart skips a beat, as I worry he’s going to flip out on me again.

            But Frank nearly gazes over and grins at me, and not a portentous grin with poor intent, but an actual, genuine smile that I’ve been missing for ages. “But I know now that it wasn’t you. You wouldn’t do that.” Frank runs a hand through his hair as he continues, “Really, I have pissed _a lot_ of people off. Due to that, quite a few people would like to get back at me, probably including, but not limited to, you. So, the list isn’t exactly narrow. In fact, I’d say it could be anyone in our grade, and that’s not even counting the older and younger kids I’ve screwed over.”

            “I’m sorry,” I comfort.

            “Don’t be,” Frank replies. “I should’ve seen this coming. Now that I’ve logged almost two thousand hours of being an asshole, I should’ve known it’d come back and bite me in the ass.”

            “Don’t talk about yourself like that,” I whisper.

            Frank sighs, and shakes his head. I decide to keep the conversation rolling, by asking,

            “Who did that to you?”

            Frank turns away, and I see his small body quiver as he begins to cry. “I can’t tell.”

            I rub his back as I coax, “You can tell me anything. I told you that, remember?”

            Frank nods, and sobs, “That’s not why.”

            “What is it, then?” I question.

            “I can’t tell you who did it, because if they found out…” Frank weeps. He faces me and points at his bruised face. “Then they’ll do this again, but twice as bad.”

            “Frank, you know I wouldn’t tell anyone,” I assure.

            “I know but…. I just….” Frank shakes his head, almost as if to clear his thoughts. “I can’t risk it.”

            “There’s no risk if they never find out,” I tell.          

            Frank bites his lip, and glances up at me as he mutters, “M-my dad did this.”

            “What’s…what’s your mom do about it?” I ask.

            “She pretends not to notice,” Frank answers. “I hate her almost more than I hate him for that.”

            “Oh, Frankie,” I sigh.

            Frank chuckles. “You haven’t called me Frankie in a long time. No one has.”

            “Maybe I should start that up again,” I respond.

            “Maybe,” Frank agrees.

            “Frank? Can I ask you something?” I ask.

            Frank nods.

            “Why…. Don’t get mad, but why are you being so nice to me all of the sudden?” I question.

            “I- I don’t know. Maybe, maybe it’s because I’ve been a t-total dick to you, and I feel bad about it,” Frank stammers.

            “Okay, but why now?” I continue.

            “Because….” Frank rolls his eyes, and then grabs me by the collar of my shirt, pulling me close as he kisses me.

            I spend a few moments in shock before kissing back, tightening a fist in his black locks and wrapping another around his waist.

            Frank suddenly shoves me away, his face red with embarrassment. He ducks his head into his crossed arms.

            I slide over closer to him, and place a hand on his back. He starts to cry again, and his tiny frame shudders violently with each gulping, broken sob.

            “You’re gay?” I whisper. I rub his back as he nods.

            “And you like me?” I ask. He nods again, weeping,

            “I’m sorry. I know you hate me.”

            I frown, replying, “Frank, you know that’s not true. How could I ever hate you when…”

            Frank looks up with me, hazel eyes burnt out with tears.

            “When I’m in love with you?” I finish.

            Frank looks confused. “You’re… you’re in love me?”

            I smile as I nod.

            “Why?”

            I laugh, and answer, “I honestly don’t know. But…. I just can’t be mad at you, sweetie.”

            Frank drives me home after that, and on the ride back, he plays a different mixed tape, one which appears to be full of love songs, or songs at least associated with love. Poprocks and Coke plays by Green Day as I step out of the car.

            “Wait!” Frank calls. He ejects the tape, and hands it to me. The tape has Frank’s sloppy scrawl, in all capitals, ‘Love Songs’, written across the top in Sharpie. “There you go.”

            “Thanks,” I thank. I walk over to the driver’s side, and Frank rolls his window down so I can lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek and a ruffle of the hair before continuing into my house.

            So, I bet you’re wondering why Frank’s house made me feel nostalgic. Believe it or not, he and I were best friends. His house was like a second home for me and the same with my house for him.

            As we got older, Frank changed. He suddenly became aggressive around sixth grade; his temper was hot and it wasn’t uncommon for him to snap at or even hit me. As soon as 8th grade hit, I guess the pressures of popularity got to him, seeing as I was a chubby trombone player with no friends other than him. So, he began to bully me with these other kids in our grade. Those other kids stopped freshman year, but Frank didn’t. When I was younger and he started to bully me, I was sure I’d never forgive him. I was angry, and obsessed with revenge. But now, I mean… I love him. Life is funny, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: Chapter 2 was edited due to contradicting facts with this chapter. The only thing that was changed is Frank's history with Gerard. Sorry, it's hard to organize my thoughts when writing something piece by piece.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and check out my other fics!
> 
> Follow my fanfiction blog- www.frerard-is-the-weapon.tumblr.com   
> Thanks for over 100 new followers!


	6. Chapter 6

            In art the next day, Jamia asks,

            “So where were you yesterday? I texted you, but you didn’t reply.”

            “You did?” I pull my phone out of my pocket and check my messages. Jamia texted me a picture of a cat. Huh, she did.

            She nods. “It freaked me out a little bit; I’m a worrier.”

            “Who’s the cat?” I ask, dodging her question.

            Jamia smiles, answering, “That’s my cat, Gucci.”

            “You named your cat after a purse?” I snort.

            “No!” Jamia insists. She then adds, “My sister did.”

            There’s a small silence before Jamia offers,

            “You know, you could come see him anytime you want.”

            “I’m allergic to cats,” I dismiss.

            Jamia points a paintbrush saturated with bright green paint at me. She boops me on the nose with it, leaving a splotch of paint behind. “You better not be making that shit up.”

            At lunch, Jamia and I are discussing why in the fuck I would ever pretend to be allergic to cats, when I see Frank. He timidly waves, and then heads over, setting his tray down next to me.

            “What do you want, shrimp?” Jamia snarls. “Why don’t you go somewhere else?”

            “No, Jamia, it’s okay,” I assure. I lace my fingers with Frank, who turns pink in the cheeks. “I’ll explain later.”

            We spend most of lunch in a stony silence, my hand still clutching Frank’s. I can tell Jamia’s pissed, confused, and mostly, _pissed._

Finally, Jamia decides to try being civil to Frank, probably because he’s currently not doing anything wrong. “So, what bands do you like?”

            Frank’s head snaps up as he lists, almost as if it were a script, “Green Day, Fall Out Boy, Smashing Pumpkins, Marilyn Manson, Nirvana, and the Beatles.

            “Damn, you’ve actually got pretty good taste,” Jamia responds. “What do you think of feminists?”

            “I think it’s good for them, but I can’t really have that much of an opinion, since I don’t really know what women go through,” Frank replies.

            Jamia grabs me by the sleeve and pulls me close, whispering in my ear, “He’s perfect!”

            “e beganHe He and some othersedssessSomeone’s coming around,” I smirk in a hushed voice.

            “He’s still an aggressive wanker,” Jamia shoots back. She then, like the amazing two faced person she is, smiles sweetly at Frank.

            Frank looks uneasy. The bell rings, and he fumbles with his hands anxiously as he stands, saying, “See you guys.” He looks around before giving me a peck on the lips that lasts about a millisecond before heading off towards his next class.

            I’m watching his flat as make its way out of there when Jamia rudely interrupts me, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

            “Okay, so yesterday, he’s picking on you and making you miserable. Correct?”

            I nod. “Correct.”

            “And now you’re all buddy buddy with him?” Jamia scoffs.

            “Well, you don’t know what happened between us,” I point out.

            “What happened?”

            “After school, he… Frank invited me to his house,” I inform. “And I went over and… he told me everything. He told me about his dad, about who could have started the rumor, about him being gay, all of it.”

            “I was right!” Jamia chirps. “I _knew_ he was gay. Just by the way he carries himself, you know?” She smiles, and then her face slowly becomes bursting with anger. She hits my shoulder rapidly as she exclaims, “SOMETHING THIS IMPORTANT IN YOUR LIFE HAPPENED AND I’M JUST FINDING OUT NOW?!”

            “I’m sorry!” I apologize, holding her arms at her sides so she fucking stops hitting me.

            Jamia’s quiet for a moment, panting from so much exertion. She then perks up, asking chirpily, “So you two are dating now?”

            I grin back at her, nodding. “Yeah, we are.”

            She squeezes me joyfully, squealing in that high registers that only girls and my brother Mikey can manage to reach.

            “GerardI’msohappyforyouohmygoshandFrankietooyouguysaresuchacutecouple!” is all ran into one long word as Jamia shrieks with excitement and glee in my ear.

            Frank meets me at my locker after school, head butting my shoulder gently  to get my attention. “Do you want to come over to my house?”

            “How about we go to mine, for a change?” I offer. “You could see Mikes. He misses you, you know.”

            Mikey used to play with Frank and I when we were kids. Mikey and Frank were almost as close as Frank and I. As soon as Frank started bullying me, Mikey cut off all ties with his best friend (besides me). Being the good little brother he is, he pretended it didn’t bother him, but I could tell he wanted to see his best friend, who had done him no direct harm.    

            Frank smiles at the mention of Mikey. “Oh, I haven’t seen that kid since forever. I remember when he was a baby….” Frank goes on, “I think the last time I saw him he was… ten? How old is he now?”

            “Twelve, almost thirteen,” I respond.

            “Ouch,” Frank chuckles.

            “It’s been two years, Frank,” I remind. “He grows up, you know.”

            On the walk towards my house, and Frank asks me,

            “Are we- erm, are we telling Mikey…”

            “About us?” I finish for him. Frank nods. “I thought we would. He’s a good kid; mature. His best friend, Bob is gay.”

            Frank coughs into his sleeve and then turns to me, grinning.

            I laugh at his dumbly happy expression. “Why are you so smiley?”

            “Little Frank is at attention,” Frank replies.

            I look down at Frank’s crotch, to see his boner pressing proudly against his denim. I blush as I look away, muttering, “Frank, what are you getting at?”

            “Well, you know… nothing,” Frank insists. He kicks a rock, and then mumbles under his breath, “You know, I’ll give you a hand job…”

            “What?!” I exclaim.

            Frank laughs, repeating, “A hand job. I’ll give you one, if you want.”

            I stare at him, trying to hide my anxiety. It must not work, because Frank giggles again, observing,

            “I’m guessing you’ve never had one.”

            I shake my head. “I haven’t even kissed someone besides you. Well…. Jamia, but…”

            “Jamia?” Frank questions, raising his eyebrows.

            “Long story short, she didn’t know I was gay,” I explain. “Point is… I’m pretty um…. Unexperienced when it comes to stuff like that.”

            Frank smiles at me, replying, “Boy, is that going to change.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and check out my other fics! New chapter should be up soon, sorry about the wait on this one! 
> 
> Follow my blog- www.haruka-loves-rin.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

             When we get to my house, Mikey is lounged lazily across the leather couch; his sock covered feet up on the coffee table. He’s watching Race To Nowhere, as he repeatedly states how fucked America’s school system is.

            “Hey, Gee,” he calls. He then looks over to see Frank, holding my hand. Mikey visibly tenses.

            “It’s okay,” I assure. I squeeze Frank’s hand as I tell, “We made up.”

            “Are you guys….” Mikey eyes our fingers, practically sewn together. “Are you… dating?”

            I nod. “Yeah.”

            Mikey stutters out, “I… I didn’t know you were gay, Gerard.”

            “Mikey, we’ll talk about it later,” I mumble. I lead Frank up the steps and into my room.

            Frank stands in the doorway for a moment, asking, “That name… what was it, Gee? What’s that about?”

            I blush slightly. It’s a dumb nickname Mikey has been saying since he was a baby and before he could say ‘Gerard’. Frank’s never heard it; as I threatened Mikey with death if he ever used the name in front of any of my friends. I guess I won’t hold up my end of the threat this time; after all; Mikey probably didn’t expect anyone to be with me, especially Frank.

            “Just a pet name,” I answer.

            “It’s cute,” Frank chirps.

            “You’re cute,” I mutter.

            Frank grins, and lays me down on the bed, tearing off my jacket and hurling it out of there. He leaves my shirt on, which is good, considering the cuts are still on my stomach, red and bulging. He unzips my pants, sliding his hand inside my jeans. He paws at my hard crotch, trying to grant access inside my underwear.

            “I’m uh, I’m wearing briefs,” I inform.

            Frank nods and undoes my button as well, wrestling my tight jeans down to my knees. He holds his gaze with mine as he pulls my grey briefs down as well, which I appreciate since he’s not staring at my almost painfully erect dick.

            He does look at it as he places one hand on my foreskin, massaging it as he uses his other hand to grab just beneath the head of my cock. He moves his thumb up and down the shaft, bringing his pointer finger across the tip a few times as he works.

            I gasp as my hips tremble forward, and moan out as Frank again drags his finger across the head. I tilt my head back as Frank works his hand deeper into my crotch, rubbing the area practically raw.

            Frank, seeing that my neck is vulnerable, leans forward to plant a series of soft kisses against the skin. At the base, he drags his tongue down to my collarbone, nibbling at it gently. He’s forward so far that my dick is pressing into the bottom of his belly, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

            I grab Frank’s upper arm, alerting, “Frank! I’m, I feel like I’m going to… going to orgasm.”

            “It’s okay,” Frank comforts. He enters his tongue inside my mouth, gripping the head of my cock tightly as a spurt of cum goes directly into his stomach, sticking to his shirt.

            I turn red, apologizing, “I’m so sorry!”

            Frank pulls off his shirt, assuring, “It’s okay.”

            I stare at his bare torso, which is fucking perfect. His chest, perfectly outlined with muscles, hardly protrudes from his stomach. His black happy trail below his belly button leads to a small clump of dark pubic hair sticking out of his jeans and underwear, which are navy blue boxer briefs hanging out over his waistband. I’m impressed; being a fifteen year old with only about four faint pubic hairs. Even then, the coloring is too light to even see.

            “That was really weird,” I admit.

            Frank knits his brows. “Gerard? Haven’t you ever touched yourself?”

            I shake my head. “Actually, no. Why, have you?”

            “Well, duh,” Frank snorts. “I’m a horny, angst-ridden teenage boy.”

            “That… that sounds like it would be awkward,” I mumble.

            Frank laughs. “The shit that comes out of your naive little mouth.” He pecks me on the cheek before undoing his pants, sliding them down his long legs and then kicking them off to the side.

            He curls up next to me, grabbing some nearby tissues to clean me off before pulling up my briefs and snuggling with me. I can’t complain; especially because his body is so warm that I’m convinced his body temperature is at least 4,000 degrees.

            We end up falling asleep, and don’t awaken till almost five thirty.

            I hear a car door slam, which indicates that my mom is home. I turn over to look at Frank, who is still sleeping; one arm sprawled across his body, his fingers resting daintily on his dominant ribcage.

            I nudge him, feeling a little guilty for waking him when he looks so content. “Frankie,” I whisper. “Wake up.”

            Frank’s wide eyes flutter open, and he smiles sleepily at me before pulling me into a hug, in which he places his jaw on my shoulder and digs his chin into the skin, sighing happily. I can tell, without even seeing, that he is grinning, just as I am.

            “I’m so glad I have you,” Frank mumbles into my shoulder. “My life was such shit.”

            I pet his hair, fingering a feather soft strand between my forefinger and thumb. “Don’t talk like that. I’m not the only good thing.”

            “My family was shit, still is. Same with my grades, myself, all of it was- and still remains- trash. But now, I have you, and Mikey, and Jamia…” Frank starts to cry, his voice coming out high and broken.

            I rub his bare back, as it quivers below me. Frank continues to sob, his cries echoing piteously in the high ceilinged room.

            “Don’t call yourself shit,” I chide. “You’re so much more than that. You’re… you’re complex, you’re caring, you’re….” I break apart the hug so I can look Frank in the eyes. “You’re perfect, okay? And I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

            Frank stops crying, the final tears spilling down his face. I hug him once more, and all I can think about as I do so is how the fuck can I tell him he’s not worthless when I feel the exact same way about myself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and check out my other fics! New chapter should be up soon! 
> 
> Follow my fanfiction blog- www.frerard-is-the-weapon.tumblr.com  
> Follow my blog- www.haruka-loves-rin.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter 8

           The next day at school, Jamia and I are in art. We’re sitting quietly, each of us painting. My tongue just bridges out over my lip, my brows furrowed in concentration.

            “So… yesterday,” Jamia begins.

            I gaze over at her, resting my paintbrush tip on the paper. “Yeah?”

            “You said Frank told you about his dad,” she continues. She places her paintbrush down, stringing a hand through her dark hair as she asks, “What exactly does that mean?”

            I sigh as I set my own paintbrush down, running my hands up and down my thighs nervously. “See, the thing is….” I lower my voice, leaning in close to Jamia’s ear. “Frank’s been going through this for a long time I think, and he’s only told me, who used to be his best friend, just a couple of days ago.”

            “You used to be his best friend?!” Jamia hisses in disbelief.

            I nod. “Yeah. Best of the best.”

            “Boy, you’ve got to update me more often,” Jamia responds.

            “I know, sorry,” I apologize. “About his dad…. He’s been, abusing Frank.”

            Jamia squints. “Like… raping him?”

            “I don’t think so,” I reply. “Hitting him, for sure.”

            Jamia falls back in her chair, slouching. For someone normally so chipper and enthusiastic, it’s pretty heart wrenching to see her look like she’s about to cry. She looks deflated, her shoulders slumped and head hung slightly. A single tear drops down her face, and she wipes her eye.

            “Hey, it’s okay,” I comfort.

            “No it’s not,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. She sobs quietly, adding, “Why? Why would he do that?”

            “I- I don’t know,” I answer. Wow Gerard, you’re such great help in situations like these.

            “It’s just…..” Jamia sniffles, proceeding, “Is that why he was such a dick to you? Because he was just so exposed to it… it… it was the only logical thing for him to do and-and he’s probably just so angry and… and it’s….” Jamia hangs her head even further, admitting, “It’s not his fault he was like that. And I was a bitch to him for it, even after you guys made up.”

            I hug her, even though it’s the middle of a class and the teacher may be looking. I don’t care. All I care about is the fact that my best girlfriend Jamia is crying her eyes out and I better do all that I can to make it stop. I pet her hair, like I do to calm Frank down when he’s upset. “It’s okay,” I coax. “You were just being a good friend to me; you didn’t know. It’s nobody’s fault, alright?”

            Jamia pushes me away, so I keep my distance, allowing her to wipe her eyes and pull her hair from her face, which was plastered in strands to her cheeks, the tears acting as an adhesive. She takes a deep breath before weeping more, bobbing her head as she assures,

            “I’m fine, I really am. I’m just…” she chuckles, adding, “It’s been a Hell of a trip for you and Frank, huh?”

            I smile, agreeing, “It really has.”

            “So, when did his dad start this?” Jamia questions.

            “I really don’t know,” I confess. “He didn’t tell me that much about it; and I could tell that, at least at the time, he really didn’t want to talk about it.”

            “Maybe you should get to know your boyfriend’s past a little better,” Jamia suggests. She places a hand on my forearm, adding, “Even if it hurts.”

            “Hurts him?” I mutter. I really don’t like the thought of my little Frankie being hurt.

            “Hurts both of you,” Jamia answers, her voice ice.

            I decide to wait to talk to Frank about it until after school. I expect there to be tears, from him, myself, or the both of us. Whichever way, I don’t want either of us to be breaking down and then have to hurry to class. It’s also Friday, so I’m hoping Frank will be able to spend the night at my house, or have me over at his.

            Frank comes to my locker after the final bell, wrapping his arms around me sweetly. He plants a kiss on the cheek, greeting, “Hey, babe. How was your day?”

            “Good,” I answer, pulling on my coat. I grab my back pack as I counter, “Yours?”

            “It was fine,” Frank replies. He presses his lips against my neck just below my jaw, nibbling gently.

            “Frank, not here,” I remind, pushing him away.

            Frank pouts. “But I wanna jerk you off.”

            “Jesus Christ, lower your voice!” I exclaim.

            Frank giggles, and then takes my hand, leading me outside to his car. He skips slightly as he’s anxious to get out of the cold; he’s only wearing a hoodie, and it’s about 20 degrees outside. In the car, he lights up a cigarette, holding it in between tightly pressed lips.

            I throw my bag into the back of his car, placing one of my feet up onto the dashboard.

            I glance over at my boyfriend, to notice that he’s staring at my crotch shamelessly. He takes the cigarette between his fingers, lifting it from his mouth to blow out a cloud of smoke. I turn beat red almost immediately, slapping hand clumsily over the area.

            Frank chuckles, telling, “You know, for having like no dick hair,” he nods as he compliments, “You’re pretty well hung.”

            I’m so embarrassed that I could curl into a ball right there on his passenger seat and die.

            Frank takes my hand, starting up the car. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetie.” He pulls out of the parking lot, and we go over to his house.

            When we get there, we immediately go up to his bedroom. We sit on his bed, and I ask straight away before any sexual distractions arise,

            “So… what exactly does your dad do to you?” I take open hand and kiss the center of his palm, then curling his fingers into a fist. I squeeze his hand comfortingly. “When did he start?”

            Frank looks taken aback. “Um, he… uh…. He’s never raped me, honest. It’s just, um… hitting, and kicking, and a lot more emotional abuse….” He starts to cry, tears streaking down his cheeks as he proceeds to inform, “He’s always done it, but it didn’t get real bad till eighth grade.”

            “How’d it get worse?” I coax. I smooth out his hair.

            “It was just verbal abuse when I was younger, and maybe being hit a couple times a year, but he never actually beat me until I was fourteen, because…. Because that’s when my grades starting going down cause I had depression and I…..” Frank snivels, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I tried to kill myself in ninth grade and…. And it didn’t work……”

            “How’d you do it?” I question softly.

            “I took a bunch of pills but…. All that did was get me in bed for a week with the worst stomach cramps imaginable,” Frank answers. He suddenly hugs me, clutching onto me for dear life.

            “Frankie… I didn’t realize you were hurting so bad,” I admit. “I mean, you were picking on me and… you seemed fine.”

            Frank shrugs his shoulders, letting them fall back into their regular position lazily. “I just….. I was really fucked up.” Frank wipes his eyes, snuggling closer to me, his arms around my waist and his head crooked up into my armpit. “But not anymore. I really, really love you, Gerard. And I need you way more than you need me.”

            I think about my self-harm scars, and respond, “That is so not true.”

            Frank sniffles before crawling into my lap, gripping the front of my tee shirt as he cries into it. I cradle him, slinging my arms around his huddled up little body. I rock him back and forth until he’s done crying, and we end up in our underwear, cuddling beneath his blankets.

           

           

           

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> My blog- www.haruka-loves-rin.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

            We don’t fall asleep this time; instead Frank takes his laptop, starting it up as he asks,

            “Want to watch a movie?”

            “Sure. What did you have in mind?” I reply.

            “I actually have this documentary called ‘Race To Nowhere’, and it’s really good. It’s about the flaws in our education system in America that leaves kids under a lot of unhealthy pressure,” Frank rambles.

            I kiss him on the tip of his nose, telling, “You’re fucking adorable.”           

            As Frank starts the movie, I snuggle up closer to him, splaying a hand over his tiny waist. He places a hand on my stomach, slowly dragging it up towards my ribcage. It’s just then that I remember about my scars.

            “What the…” Frank mumbles. He tosses off the covers, to see the cuts on my stomach. He gasps, holding one hand to his mouth and clutching the other to his chest. “What happened?!”

            I defensively cover the cuts, placing both of my hands completely over them.

            “I uh….” I trail off, unable to come up with a good lie. I have that caught up feeling in my chest and the building in the back of my throat that tells me that I’m about to cry. Like, really fucking soon. Tears run down my face as I confess, “I…. I happened.”

            Frank pulls me into his arms, kissing the top of my head as he comforts, “Don’t cry, babe. Just tell me what you mean.”

            “I…. I…..” I sob. I can’t seem to fully develop words, let alone sentences. “I… I did this to myself. I’m sorry; don’t hate me.”

            Frank strings a hand in my hair, pulling me towards him so that his chin is resting atop of my head. “H-hate you? Why would I do that?”

            I shrug, allowing my shoulders to drop clumsily and carelessly.       

            “Honey, I would never hate you,” Frank assures, repeatedly planting kisses onto the top of my head as he takes one of my hands. “Just…. Let me see them; it’s okay.”

            I slowly remove one hand, and then the other. Frank’s eyes well up with more tears as he examines the cuts; and he’s the type of person to not wipe them away, now that he really knows me, he’s not afraid to cry in front of me. “Gerard th-those don’t look good. They’re really deep.”

            “It’s fine; I’ve had worse,” I assure.

            Frank shakes his head, melancholy glistening in his hazel eyes. “I’m so sorry. I…. I made you do this… didn’t I?”

            “No! It’s not your fault, really!” I insist. “It’s your dad’s, honestly.”

            Frank slides away, curling his knees up to his chest and burying his head. “I could’ve- I didn’t have to take all of that shit and just make more.”

            “What do you mean?” I question. I try to pull one of Frank’s arms, stroking his wrist with my thumb, but he snaps it back over to himself.

            “Some kids…. good kids, when they’re abused, it inspires them. But bad kids… kids like me,” Frank weeps. “It just makes them turn into giant assholes who get off on other people’s misery!”

            “It doesn’t make you a bad person,” I coax. I take one of Frank’s hands, and he actually lets me. I intertwine my fingers with his, giving a small squeeze. “It really isn’t your fault, Frankie. And, there’s no point over beating yourself up over everything we’ve been through because… I already forgave you.”           

            “You shouldn’t have,” Frank cries.

            “Frank, I have no idea what being abused would do to me. I can definitely see why anyone would be angry, really.”

            “That wasn’t the only reason why I bullied you,” Frank admits.

            “What was it then?” I ask him.

            “Sure I was angry,” Frank informs. “But…. I was just falling in love with you. I couldn’t believe that I was gay. But you were the only person I liked. So, I… I figured that if….” Frank lowers his voice as he continues, “If I made you feel like shit, everyday… eventually you’d leave. You’d get out of this town, and you wouldn’t look back. And then I’d be able to get on with my life.”

            “But… you wouldn’t give in. And, it made me so mad. So I’d hit you harder. Bully you more often. Embarrass you in front of any friends you managed to make.”

            “At the same time, I… I really admired you for it. You took your beatings like a man, all the abuse, even though you’d done no wrong. You had your name dragged through the mud, your reputation ruined, your social life practically demolished. It was amazing. I couldn’t picture myself ever doing that, ever having that much fucking bravery, and… and honor and shit. And you never once spoke bad of me.”

            “Who does that sound like?” I retort.

            Frank is silent.

            “You did all of that stuff too, Frank. Only, your attacker has no excuses. He’s a piece of shit that doesn’t deserve to have a son. A fucked up creep that tortures his son to the point that he’s afraid to tell anyone, because he thinks that he’ll get punished physically. You’re, you’re just as good in my eyes as I am in yours,” I explain.

            Frank falls out of his position, leaning back on the bed post. He grins at me, and then slides off his blue briefs, revealing his hard dick, flushed and firm about two inches away from my own crotch. At the sight of it, I instantly get an erection, one that’s almost painfully hard. Frank reaches across the bed, slipping his thumb inside the waistband of my green American Apparel boxer briefs. He pulls them slowly down my legs, his knuckles tickling my calves. I step out of them, and he tosses them out of the way. He brings a hand up the inside of my thigh, pressing his thumb into the overly sensitive skin. He places his other hand on my ribcage, tracing the hints of bone. Frank smiles, and asks me,

            “Do you think we’re ready to have sex?”

            I bite my lip, and give the obvious fucking answer. “Hell yes.”

            Frank laughs, kissing my nipple and boasting, “That’s my boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know another cliff hanger. Sorry, not sorry. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment! 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr- www.haruka-loves-rin.tumblr.com


	10. Chapter 10

            Frank gets up, crossing the room to get to his dresser. I shamelessly stare at his butt, because Jesus Christ it is beautiful.

            “Are you staring at my ass?” Frank asks as he opens his top drawer.

            I blush a little, but gain enough confidence to respond, “Yeah. It’s really tiny; it’s cute.”

            Frank turns a little bit red himself, but returns to the bed, a bundle of lube and a condom in his arms. I reach around his waist and squeeze one of his ass cheeks, commenting,

            “And it feels as flat as it looks.”

            “Shut up!” Frank giggles, pushing my hand away. He stands there somewhat awkwardly, clutching a condom in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other. “Do…. Do you want to….”

            “I’ll be the bottom,” I blurt, trying to make it less awkward. I’m kind of scared as Frank gets behind me, laying me on my back. It will probably hurt. Like, really bad. But I’m willing to do it. I grab one of his forearms, asking,

            “Can you, can you prepare me?”

            Frank nods, “Yeah, I think I know how.” He grabs my thighs, pulling them upward so my ankles are on his shoulders. He lubes up one finger, slowly inserting it. He curls it once he’s inside, and I bite my lip to suppress a shudder. He adds another finger, spreading the two out in a scissoring motion. I feel myself stretch a little bit. He lubes himself up more before adding a third. My ass is on fire, but at the same time, it feels really fucking good. I’m a twitching, moaning mess, and the kid hasn’t even used his dick yet. Frank smirks down at my invalid self.

            “You’re really…” my breath catches. “You’re really good at this, Frankie.”

            Frank turns a little pink in the cheeks, and sheepishly admits, “Well, I just know how to do this from fanfiction.”

            I grin, and ask, “Who do you ship?”

            “Peterick,” he replies. “And Destiel.”

            I grin, and grind my hips as he digs his fingers further into me. He separates them one more time, forcing my body to make room for the visitor. He looks down at me, and then screws his eyes shut, muttering,

            “Fuck, Gee.”

            “What?” I ask, not being able to hold back my huge smile at him using Mikes’s nickname for me.

            “You’re breathtaking,” Frank replies.

            I redden, and shut my eyes myself, trailing a hand down my stomach and clutching it around my dick. I slowly thrust it as Frank removes his fingers. I hear the tearing of a plastic wrapper, and the sound of a condom being put on a fully aroused penis, followed by the snap of the cap to the lube, and the splurt it makes as Frank squeezes some of it into his palm, rubbing it on himself. He grabs my thighs, gradually sliding into me.

            I let out a breathy moan, and open  my eyes to see Frank blush at my loud, sexual noises. He pulls out, and back in, rocking me back and forth gently. I moan louder, groaning,           

            “Fu-uck, Frankie.”

            Frank grabs my dick with one of his hands, rubbing his thumb all around the head as he fucks me. He rotates his hips, pushing into me further. A fiery sensation burns in my ass, and spreads until it consumes all of my body. It hurts, but at the same time, I want him to never stop.

            Frank slows his pace, until he tilts his head back, whimpering as he comes. He pulls out, but continues to work my cock, putting the tip in his mouth and grazing his teeth against it. I moan out his name loudly as I come, and he obediently swallows. He wipes his mouth and crawls up next to me, tearing off his condom and throwing it to the floor, before pulling me into a hug.

            Later that day, when I get home I go straight to my room, firing up a documentary about Ted Bundy. Halfway through, there’s a knock at my door. I pause the movie, and call,

            “What do you want?”

            “Gee, we gotta talk,” Mikey responds.

            “Come in,” I reply.

            Mikey enters, closing the door behind him. He sits next to me, and I move over and sit up, pulling the covers around myself tightly. I’m in my boxer briefs, which I doubt Mikey would want to see me wearing.

            “Gerard… does…. Does anyone besides Frank and I know you’re gay?” Mikey questions.

            Oh shit. We’re having one of _those_ talks. “Um, Jamia knows.”

            “Who’s Jamia?”

            “This girl that’s my friend,” I reply. “She’s hella awesome; you should totally meet her.”

            “I’ll have to,” Mikey agrees. “So, when did you find out you were gay? And how?”

            “Mikes, I’ve…” I breathe heavily, confiding, “I’ve known since I was a kid, honestly. Ever since I started getting sexual feelings… I’ve… I never felt them towards girls. So that was a no brainer.”

            “Why don’t you come out?” Mikey asks.

            “Maybe because I don’t want to get my ass kicked,” I snap.

            Mikey looks hurt. “I was just curious.”

            “I’m sorry,” I apologize, rubbing my face. “I’m just so fucking agitated. But you know how kids are in this town. I’m sure that I’d get bullied again if I told everyone I was gay.”

            “True, true,” Mikey replies. “But, maybe you should be more worried about who you are and less worried about what others think.”

            “I’m not worried about what they think; I’m just refraining from telling anyone for now so I don’t get my ass torn to shreds every single day,” I snarl.

            Mikey again, is hurt. Great, I’m a piece of shit for a big brother. I lean over, hugging Mikey. “I’m sorry. I just… ugh. I feel like shit.”

            “How come?” Mikey asks.

            I break the hug, stringing a hand through my hair as I answer, “I haven’t been sleeping well at all.”

            “Why?” Mikey questions.

            Maybe just because sometimes I just feel so guilty that I start crying so bad that I can’t sleep? “No reason.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-harm trigger at the end of the chapter. There's a warning right before it.

            When I get to school the next day, I don’t see Frank hanging around my locker like he usually does, seeing as he’s a lost puppy. I look around for him a bit before seeing Jamia.

            “Hey,” I call.

            “Hey yourself,” she responds.

            “Have you seen Frank?” I question.

            Jamia smirks, “Why, I’m fine thank you.”

            God damn it is the girl difficult. “HOW ARE YOU, JAMIA?!”

            Jamia grins boastingly. “I’m fine, thanks.”

            “So, have you seen him?” I ask.

            “Sorry, kiddo,” Jamia replies. “I can’t say I have.”

            I lean against my locker, worrying, “I hope he’s okay. I just… he’s so fragile right now. I don’t want him getting into trouble, ya know?”

            “Maybe he’s just sick,” Jamia suggests.

            “I sure hope so,” I mumble.

            I see Frank later at lunch. His shirt is torn at the collar and he seems pretty ruffled.

            “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

            “What do you mean?” Frank questions. He’s got to be playing dumb.

            “You look….” I gaze deeper into Frank’s light green eyes. “You look scared, baby.”

            “Can we….” Frank glances over at Jamia, who spits out her food to flash a smile.

            “No offense to Jamia, but can we not do this in front of her?” Frank asks.

            “Sure,” I agree. I wave bye to Jamia before grabbing Frank’s arm, pulling him to his feet and into a nearby bathroom.

            Once we’re in there, I begin,

            “Alright, so, what was so bad that you couldn’t say it in front of Jamia?”

            Frank sighs and pushes himself up onto the sink. He crosses his arms, allows his head to droop and admits, “Some kids were picking on me.”

            “You… you’re getting bullied?” I question, unable to believe it.

            “Not bullied! Just… this was a one-time thing,” Frank insists.

            “Are you sure? Because you know…” I confess, “When you first called me a dyke, I thought it’d be a one-time thing.”

            Frank starts to tear up. He stares at the floor as the tears roll down his face, apologizing, “Gee I…. I’m so sorry I ever did that to you.”

            The door swings open, and Frank curls up on top of the sink as I turn my head to see who it is. It’s four boys that look familiar but whose names I don’t know.

            “What do we have here?” one of them chuckles. He and his gang move past me, one of them shoving me to the ground, and make their way over to Frank.

            “Leave him alone!” I cry from the floor.

            A boy with glasses smirks at me before turning his attention back to Frank. He grabs a chunk of Frank’s hair, yanking his head up so his eyes match his. “Why are you crying, fag?”

            Frank shrugs, and drops his head as he starts to sob more. His head is snapped up by the hair again, and he yelps out in pain.

            “I said, why are you crying?” the boy demands, stressing the last four words.

            Frank takes a deep breath before glaring at the boy. “Fuck…. You.”

            “Oh! You’re such a pussy!” the boy laughs. “You’re all talk, Frank.” He grips Frank by his torn collar, tearing the hole in it even wider. “Now I’m going to kick your ass. If your little girlfriend doesn’t get out, I’m gonna kick her ass too. And I’d like to see your puny ass do a single thing about it.”

            Frank spits straight into the boy’s face. The kid slams Frank’s head against the wall, then throwing him off of the sink and onto the floor. I quickly rise, in time to see the boys form a circle around Frank, all of them kicking him as he covers his head with his arms and wraps himself up in a fetal position.

            I break into the circle, throwing myself over Frank and shouting, “If ANY of you cocksuckers touch him one more time I will personally rip your throat out and mail it to your family! So get the FUCK OUT!”

            “Say that again, you little shit!” one of them barks.

            “I said, ‘Get the fuck, out!’” I repeat. To prove my point, I punch a nearby boy in the crotch. He goes down, and his friends give me icy stares as they help him limp out of the bathroom.

            “Frankie! Are you okay?” I ask, cupping my hand around Frank’s jaw and caressing his cheekbone with my thumb.

            “Yeah, I’m fine,” Frank replies. “But…. Those were the same kids that got me this morning.”

            I smile sadly. “So it’s turned into a bullying thing?” Frank nods. “What did they do to you this morning?”

            Frank mumbles, “You know, they just punched me in the stomach a whole lot, ripped my shirt in the process, called me a fag…” Frank begins to weep again as he adds, “Nothing worse than what I’d do to you.”

            “Oh hon, you have just got to realize that I forgave you,” I respond, hugging Frank and holding his head close to my chest, stringing my fingers through his hair. “All that’s left is for you to forgive yourself.”

            “I...” Frank sniffles. He wipes his eyes, exhaling heavily. “Okay.”

            I grin at him and help him to his feet.

            That night, as I lay in bed, I just feel like shit. I made Frank feel horrible for bullying me. If I would’ve just stood up for myself or moved like he fucking wanted me to all of those years ago…. This… this would’ve never happened.

            I end up crying to the point I’m dry heaving. I’m a horrible person. I’m serving as no help in him getting bullied. Hell, I didn’t even tell anyone or try to stop them after the bathroom incident.

            WARNING: SELF-HARM TRIGGER

I get my knife out from under my mattress, where it lies concealed in a plastic zip lock bag. I slowly get it out, holding it against my upper arm for a good minute or so until I finally dig it in, dragging it slowly across the width of my limb. Blood seeps out, and I can literally see skin on the end of the knife’s blade if I look closely enough. I go to my attached bathroom, dressing my wound quickly before going to bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment! I'll update soon!
> 
> Follow my NEW mcr only blog- www.seance-down-below.tumblr.com


	12. Chapter 12

When Frank and I arrive at [school](http://www.mychemicalromancefanfiction.com/Story/25357/Nobodies/12/) the next day, each of us can tell that something’s up with the other. Both of our problems are pretty apparent; I’m wearing a long sleeved t shirt when it’s how warm outside and Frank shows up to my locker crying.  
“What’s wrong, babe?” I ask.  
Frank shrugs, more [fat](http://www.mychemicalromancefanfiction.com/Story/25357/Nobodies/12/) tears rolling down his face.  
I shake my head knowingly. “You were getting picked on again, weren’t you?”  
Frank nods, and ducks his heads as his tears fall. I take his hands in mine, stroking the inside of his palms with my thumbs.  
“What’d they do to you?” I whisper.  
“I-it’s not what they d-did, it’s wh-what they said,” Frank sniffles.  
“Alright, then, what’d they say?” I tailor.  
Frank bites his lip and then sobs, “They, they told me that I was a Hell-bound faggot and that I deserved to kill myself.”  
I hug Frank tightly, petting the back of his hair.  
“Gee, um, people are looking,” Frank snivels.  
I shrug. “So what? I don’t give a fuck.”  
“Aww, how cute,” a boy sneers. Gerard snaps his head over to see that it’s one of the most notorious assholes in their school, Shane. He thumps Frank in the chest. “A midget…” he grabs a chunk of my hair, pulling harshly before releasing me. “And a vampire. Those go together, right?”  
Shane checks over his shoulder to make sure that somebody’s watching, to see that all of the hallway is. Of course, he wouldn’t bully someone without an audience to talk about how great it was.  
Shane smirks at my hair, which is styled into a faux hawk. “Nice [haircut](http://www.mychemicalromancefanfiction.com/Story/25357/Nobodies/12/). What are you, a gay superhero?”  
I feel my ears burn as he and some other kids in the hall laugh.  
“Can you fly? Go, jump out of a fourth floor window and find out,” Shane sneers.  
“You can’t talk to him like that!” Frank interjects, stepping between me and Shane. I tug on the bottom of his shirt fearfully, but Frank bats my hand away with a quick squeeze.  
“Oh, yeah? I bet…” Shane twists off the cap to his water bottle, holding it over Frank’s head. “I bet I can pour this onto your head and you’ll both let me.”  
Shane holds his word, tipping the bottle upside down as Frank stands there, growing redder and redder as he gets wetter and wetter as well.  
Shane chuckles, tossing the bottle over his shoulder. He punches Frank in the crotch, making him double over. “Later, fags.”  
I rush to the aid of my boyfriend, who is coughing as he crumples to his knees. “Frank! Are you okay?”  
Frank, clutching his cock, nods, wheezing, “Yeah, I’m fine.”  
My hands form fists as I glare at the spot where Shane had stood. “God, that guy’s an ass! We can’t let him treat us like that!”  
Frank chuckles hoarsely. “I’m afraid we’re gonna have to. He’s about 6’3” and 230. Meanwhile, I’m 5’4” and 112. Gerard, he’s almost a foot taller and over twice as heavy.”  
“So? Together…. I’m 5’8”, and 144! Together, we’re… we’re 11 feet tall and 256 pounds!” I chime, trying to get Frank to look on the bright side.  
Frank slowly rises, chuckling, “Wow, dream big, Gerard.”  
“Frank! You have to think about this logically!” I reason. “Two kids can definitely take one.”  
Frank shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure we just proved that we couldn’t if we tried.”  
I groan, following Frank down the hallway. I grab him by the arm, quickly pecking him on the cheek. “See you at lunch, babe. Take care of yourself.”  
“I will,” Frank promises. He eyes my sleeve, almost as if he can see through it and denote all of the cuts. He then looks at me with those huge hazel eyes, and tells, “Later, I get the whole story, kay?”  
“Fine,” I mumble.  
After school, Frank drives me to his house. We go up to his room, stripping to our underwear and cuddling in his bed. I keep my t shirt on with my pink briefs, afraid to let Frank see how much damage I did last night.  
Frank runs a hand up my sleeve, caressing my forearm gently. He grabs the tail of my shirt, and I obediently bow my head and lift my arms so he can pull it off of me. He lets it fall to the floor, and pulls the covers down to our waists, revealing the gauze covered cut. Frank keeps his eyes on mine as he undoes the wrap, leaving the deep red cut on display, barely held together with butterfly bandages.  
Frank kisses it, and then looks up at me. “Gerard, this has to stop. I want you to go to therapy.”  
I shake my head. “I can’t do that, Frankie. I need it.”  
Frank bites his lip, and then sighs, “I really didn’t want to do this Gerard.”  
“Do what?” I ask, sitting up as my stomach churns with anxiety.  
Frank tears up, and stands, walking around in his blue and grey striped boxer briefs until he locates his skinny jeans, wiggling into them. He pulls on his shirt as well, and steps into his shoes. He lifts me out of bed, setting me on the edge. “Get dressed, babe.”  
I’m suspicious of Frank’s motives, but do as I’m told, getting dressed quickly. Frank picks me up again, going down the stairs and into his truck. He sets me in the passenger seat, buckling my seat belt. He starts to cry as he gets into his own seat, slamming the door and starting his truck.  
“Where are we going?” I question.  
Frank sniffles, “I can’t tell you.”  
I peer over at him, to see his eyeliner run down his face in long, black streaks.  
I start to recognize the route. I reach for the door handle, but Frank locks the door, apologizing,  
“I’m sorry, Gerard. But you have to do this.”  
“No! I can’t! I’m not ready!” I cry, jiggling the handle angrily. “Let me out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'm glad you like the story so far!
> 
> Follow my MCR blog- www.seance-down-below.tumblr.com  
> Follow my blog- www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	13. Chapter 13

Frank drags me through the hospital parking lot, grunting,

            “Come on, Gee! You have to do this.”

            “No! I can’t! I’m not ready!” I protest, fighting against him.

            Frank catches me around the waist and tosses me over his shoulder with ease. He may be tiny, but he’s very strong. Remember chapter 1? The kid picked me up by my backpack for Christ’s sakes, so throwing me over his shoulder must be a piece of cake.

            “Put me down!” I cry, pounding my fists against his back.

            “Gerard, you have to get better,” Frank responds. Part of me feels like he keeps saying things like that just to justify his own actions against me.

            We enter the hospital, and boy, does Frank get some looks as he carries a screaming fifteen year old boy larger than him over his back down the halls. He finds a receptionist’s desk, and informs,

            “I here to check him into the psychiatric ward.” He jostles me to show that _I’m_ the one who needs help, not him or anyone else.

            “What’s your reasoning, sweetie?” the receptionist asks sweetly.

            “He’s been self-harming, and he may also need stitches,” Frank replies.

            “Fill out these,” she instructs, and I hear the sliding of papers across the desk along with a pen. “You’ll be called when they’re ready to take him.”

            “Thanks so much,” Frank replies, turning. He sets me down in a chair, questioning,

            “Can I trust you not to run away?”

            “You know I’m not five,” I mumble.

            Frank frowns. “You’ve kind of been kicking and screaming since we got here, babe.”

            He sits in the chair next to me, and starts out the forms.

            “What’s your middle name?” Frank asks.

            “Arthur,” I answer.

            “Arthur,” Frank mutters as he scrawls it down. “Your birthday?”

            “I’m not happy about this, you know. I could choose not to be cooperative,” I point out. I cross my arms over my chest, continuing, “But I love you, so I won’t do that.”

            “I love you too,” Frank says, and he takes his free hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. “But what’s your birthday?”

            “April 9th,” I giggle.

            Frank grins at me, and then turns his attention back to the forms. “It’s nice to see you laughing.”

            We sit there in silence for a while, until Frank suggests,

            “You know, I don’t know that much about you. It’s probably better you filled these out.”

            He holds them out towards me, but I dodge them.

            Frank frowns. “What’s wrong?”

            “I’m not filling out my death warrant,” I reply.

            Frank chuckles. “Stop being so dramatic. You know you need the help.”

            “I know but….” I turn to Frank. “I’m scared. I’m not ready to do this Frank.”

            “Look,” Frank sighs. He sets the papers onto the floor, offering his hands, palms up. I hesitantly place mine into his, and he closes his fists around them. I like it; it makes me feel secure.

            “You are very brave, Gerard. You’re intelligent, beautiful, kind, funny, and I could go on for hours. So, you’ve got this problem. It doesn’t dictate your life or your personality; you wouldn’t let it. But, if you carry on this way….” Frank eyes well up with tears, and one falls to the floor, followed by another rolling down his cheek. “I’m afraid you’ll end up dead, Gerard. I need…. I need to be a good boyfriend, and get you the help you deserve.” He crumples down, holding his head in his hands as he sobs, “Before it’s too late.”

            I start to cry myself. I pull Frank into my lap, that shaky little boy. I wrap my arms around his hips, locking my hands together on his hipbone. I rock him back and forth, and he buries his face into my chest, clutching onto the front of my shirt as he cries into it.

            “Gerard Way, we’re ready for you,” a voice calls.

            I turn my head behind me where the voice came from, to see a doctor standing there, smiling politely.

            Frank crawls out of my lap, wiping his eyes. “You’ve got to go now, Gerard.”

            “I can’t leave you like this. I can’t leave, period! I’m not ready Frank, how many times do I have to say it?!” I shout.

            “Gerard, come with me,” the doctor invites.

            “No!” I bark. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that!”

            “Just do what she says,” Frank pleads.

            “Frank, I can’t do this in a hospital! I’ll get better; I promise! I can’t do this without you! Please don’t let them take me!” I beg.

            Frank turns to the lady, his eyes shut. “Take whatever means necessary to get him into treatment.”

            The doctor leaves, and I fall to the floor, crawling over to Frank. I kneel, pulling on his shirt. “Frank, please! Don’t do this to me!”

            Frank, eyes screwed shut, lets the tears fall down his face. “I’m sorry. But you need this.”

            “Frank! I’ll do better, I swear!” I promise. “Just don’t let them taking away from you, from Mikey!”

            From the corner of my eye, I see the doctor return, this time, with two muscular looking guys. Shit, they must be the ones prying me away from my Frankie.

            They come over, so I grip the legs to Frank’s jeans as tight as I can. “Please don’t do this.”

            The men come, and one of them picks me up while the other has to individually pluck each finger from Frank’s jeans. “Frankie, please!”

            They carry me away, and I fight against them, even though I know that my efforts are fruitless.

            “FRANK!” I holler down the hall. “I NEED YOU!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much! Please comment, and I'm glad that you guys like the story!
> 
> My MCR blog- www.seance-down-below.tumblr.com  
> My normal blog- www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	14. Chapter 14

            They check me into the psych ward. The very first thing I have to do is pat me down. The doctor has me put my hands against the wall and spread my legs. She checks me thoroughly, stopping at my pocket. “What is that?”

            “My cellphone,” I reply.

            “I’m going to have to take that,” she informs, holding her hand out.

            I sigh as I dig it out of my pocket, placing it hesitantly into her hand. I know they’re trying to keep me safe or whatever, but honestly, it feels like they’re trying to break me down by cutting all of my contacts with the outside world.

            She withdraws a large brown paper bag from her pocket, opening the bag and dropping the phone inside. She leads me to the bathroom, telling,

            “I’m sorry, Gerard, but someone’s going to have to watch you change into these.” She holds up a hospital gown with white slippers with grippers on the bottom. “I can do it, but I can get a male staff member if you’d like.”

            “What for?” I ask.

            “It’s so you don’t hide anything to hurt yourself with,” she explains. “I’m sorry, but if your addiction has gotten so serious to the point that you’re in a psych ward, we have to do all we can to keep you safe.”

            “I’d rather have a boy watch,” I decide, not wanting a girl to see me get possibly naked.

            “Alright. Come with me,” she orders.

            I follow her down the hall where she finds a guy dressed in all white like she is. He’s handsome, with shaggy brown hair, dark hazel eyes, and a mole on his jaw.

             She tells him, “This is Gerard, Gerard, this is Sam. If you could do me a favor and watch him change?”

            “Sure,” Sam replies, as if that were a totally normal question.

            The doctor hands him the paper bag and my clothes. He puts a huge hand on my shoulder and guides me to the nearest bathroom, locking the door behind him.

            He watches, bored, from the corner as I take off my shirt, revealing my pale and bony torso. I ask him,

            “Am I allowed to keep my underwear on?”

            He nods, replying, “Some patients on suicide watch aren’t even allowed that because of the elastic band, but you can.”

            I undo my belt slowly, really not wanting to pull down my pants. God, if I would’ve known that a hot guy who was only like 25 was going to be watching me change, I wouldn’t have worn my pink briefs. I hesitantly lower my jeans to my ankles, kicking off my shoes and stepping out of my jeans. I put on the gown which is…. Shit….. open in the back. Fucking perfect, everyone in this hospital will get a great look at my pink underwear. I then step into the slippers, gathering my clothes and asking,

            “What do I do with these?”

            Sam takes them, adding them to the bag, which is now bulging due to all of my stuff being crammed inside it. “I’m going to give this to the front desk, then I’ll take you back to Dr. Hayward.”

            I walk gripping the back of my gown, holding the ends so the open space is shut.

            Sam smirks at me, and I feel myself go red. “You know, there’s probably at least 7 or 8 guys walking around with the backs open and their ass hanging out. Just be glad you’re not one of them.”

            I appreciate Sam trying to make me feel better, but I still hold onto the back of the gown.

            He drops the bag of at the front desk before taking me back to the doctor, who takes me to my room. She leaves, her heels clicking against the linoleum floor.

            When I get there, I see a person with their back turned to me. They’re scratching at their bed sheets and have their head tilted up towards the window like sunflowers to light.

            “Hi,” I begin.

            The person turns around. I see his features, see his curly brown hair, brown eyes, and full lips. “Who are you?”

            “I’m Gerard,” I answer. “I just got here, and I guess I’ll be staying with you for a while.”

            “Have you been crying?” he asks.

            I wipe at my eyes, feeling how inflamed they are. “Yes. That’s none of your business.”

            “I’m Ray,” he finally tells me. “It’s nice to meet you.” He turns back away from me, mumbling, “It’ll be nice to have someone to help me through this.”

            “So, Ray, what are you here for?” I question, hoping I don’t sound rude. Ray turns and glares at me, so I nervously add, “Y-you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

            There’s a knock on the door frame (I guess in psych wards they never close the doors). The doctor is standing there. “Gerard, Ray? It’s time for group counseling.”

            Ray quickly stands, hurrying out of the room. He must be one of the patients on suicide watch, because he’s not wearing any underwear beneath his gown. I follow reluctantly, just wanting to be home.

            “We have a someone new joining us in therapy today,” the doctor tells the group.

            No one claps or even smiles. Never in my life have I seen gloomier kids than in group therapy.

            She turns to me, explaining, “I’m Dr. Hayward. Would you like to introduce yourself, and state why you’re here? Everybody else will do the same, if that makes you feel better.”

            I stand, sharing, “I’m Gerard. I haven’t officially been diagnosed so….” I look down at Dr. Hayward, who smiles and nods encouragingly. “I’m here for self-harming, but I probably have a mental disorder of some sort.” I sit back down, feeling heat in my cheeks.

            Ray had sat next to me, so Dr. Hayward motions for him to go.

            Ray shakes his head. “No.”

            “Come on, Ray,” Dr. Hayward coaxes. “See, Gerard did it. No one laughed; it’s okay.”

            “They’re all going to laugh,” Ray hisses.

            A blond boy with a lip ring across the circle rolls his eyes, crossing his arms.

            “No one’s going to laugh at you, sweetie. We’re all here to help you,” Dr. Hayward assures.

            Ray finally stands, pulling on a strand of hair as he introduces himself. “I’m Ray. I have schizophrenia.” He sits back down, almost ready to cry.

            “That was good, Ray, really good,” Dr. Hayward compliments.

            We go around the circle, everybody introducing themselves and basically announcing whatever mental illness they have.

            When they get to the blond boy who had rolled his eyes at Ray, he reveals that his name is Bob and he has depression. I wish I had a title; if I say that I self-harm and give no reason why, they’ll all think I’m some loser trying to get attention or something.

            When the session is finally over (today we talked about coping methods), I sit for a while longer, watching this cute kid named Christopher leave, watch his tight little ass bound by black boxers exit.

            I then get up, heading back to my room. Ray follows me, and I just remember I didn’t close my gown as Ray asks,

            “Why are you wearing girls’ underwear?”

            “They’re not for girls,” I answer, shutting the gown as my face goes red.

            “But they’re pink,” Ray insists. “Girls wear pink.”

            I glance back at him, to see that he is looking back earnestly. He must be mentally slow or have some sort of personality trait that makes him so blunt. Not wanting to take the time to explain that boys can wear pink, too, I just sigh and lie,

            “Yeah, they’re girls’ underwear.”

            “Why are you wearing them?” Ray repeats.

            “Can you drop it, please?” I beg, sitting on my bed and rubbing my temples.

            “Yes,” Ray replies, lying down on his own bed.

            God, I need to get out of here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment! I'll be updating soon. 
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com
> 
> Read my Peterick fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1098466  
> Read my new MCR war fic: http://www.mychemicalromancefanfiction.com/Story/29247/The-Ghost-Of-You/


	15. Chapter 15

            I get a knock on my door around 10:00 the next morning. It’s Dr. Hayward.

            “Gerard? You can have your morning phone call,” she informs.

            “M-morning phone call?” I ask, looking to Ray for guidance, but just seeing him sleeping soundly, covers off, and hands clasped in between his knees.

            She smiles. “You get a morning phone call. To talk to family, friends…..” She’s quiet for a while, and then adds, “Boyfriends….”

            “Yeah, I get it, you know I’m gay,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes.

            “If you want, we have LGTBQ counseling,” she offers.

            “No thanks,” I reply. My half-closed eyes shoot open as I realize, “My mom doesn’t know where I am!”

            “Oh, honey don’t worry about that. We contacted her last night,” she tells.

            “Did you…..” I’m afraid to ask, but push through. “Did you tell her I’ve been self-harming?”

            She shakes her head. “I simply told her you were admitted by your boyfriend in concern for your mental health and will return in a minimum of 24 hours.”

            “Thank God,” I breathe. I perk up, asking, “When’s visiting hours?”

            “2:00-5:00,” she answers.

            “Can my boyfriend come? Or just family?” I ask.

            “Partners are okay,” she says. “But someone has to watch to assure he doesn’t slip you anything. That’s with anyone who’s not family, though.”

            “I know who I’m going to call,” I mumble, getting up and heading for the phone.

            The line rings a few times. Luckily, it’s Saturday, so he should pick up.

            “Gee?” Frank’s voice answers. It’s groggy over the phone. Shit, I must’ve woken him up. Oh well, I really need to talk to him.

            “Frank… you have to get me out of here,” I plead. “I hate it. My roommate’s a paranoid schizophrenic, a cute boy had to watch me change and _everyone_ can see my pink underwear!”

            Frank sounds like he’s about to say something, but stops midway to chuckle.

            “You’re _laughing?”_ I hiss disbelievingly.

            “I’m sorry it’s just… shit,” Frank giggles. “I should’ve let you change undies before I took you there.”

            “Frank! I’m in a psych ward! You put me here!” I accuse.

            Frank stops laughing. “Gerard, I had to. You were out of control. You could’ve really hurt yourself.”

            “Yeah, I could’ve, but I didn’t,” I retort.

            “That’s beside the point,” Frank argues. “Look, if you’re going to get out of there, you have to promise me one thing.”

            “Sure, anything,” I agree eagerly.

            “No more self-harming of any type,” Frank replies.

            I’m quiet for a long time.

            “Gee? Are you still there?” Frank asks.

            I nod, then realize that he can’t see that. “Yeah, I’m here,” I answer softly.

            “Can you do that for me?” Frank questions.

            I’m quiet for an even longer, but this time, Frank is sure I’m there. Finally, “Yes. I can do that. I’m out at 5:00 p.m., I think, because that’s when you brought me here yesterday. But there’s also visiting hours starting at two.”

            “I don’t want to see you there, really,” Frank admits. “A hospital is no place for boyfriends to be, agreed?”

“Agreed,” I chime.

“Okay,” Frank responds. “So, I’ll be there to pick you up at 5, alright?”

            “ ‘Kay,” I tell lightly.

            “Bye, Gee,” Frank dismisses.

            “Bye, Frankie,” I reply.

            The line goes dead, so I hang up the phone, taking confident strides back to my room because, Hell, I’m getting out of this place.

            Ray is sitting up straight in bed when I return. He turns to me and asks, “Where were you?”

            “On the phone with my boyfriend,” I answer, realizing I’d said boyfriend, but after the fact.

            Ray scrunches his nose. “Boyfriend? You like a boy?”

            “Well…. Yeah,” I confess.

            Ray shakes his head and smiles. He crooks his head up to gaze out the window, remarking, “That’s goofy.”

            I grin and sit down on my own bed. “Well, he put me here, so maybe it was a little goofy.”

            Ray turns to me, his brows knit. “Your boyfriend brought you here?”

            I nod.

            “Well, what kind of boyfriend is that?” Ray asks.

            I try to think of a comeback, but all I can say is, “I…. I don’t know.”

            Dr. Hayward again knocks on my door around two, asking, “Gerard? Do you mind if we do your discharge analysis now? Or are you waiting for visitors?”

            “Discharge analysis?” I repeat.

            “I’m going to have to ask you some questions before you leave, just so we know where you are,” Dr. Hayward explains. “If your answers, by any chance, make you a danger to anyone, including yourself, we may put you on a longer hold here.”

            My heart thumps in my chest. I’m no danger, just a fucked up kid with more issues than Vogue. “O-okay. We can do that now, I guess.”

            I get up, holding my gown shut as I follow Dr. Hayward down the halls. She leads me to a small room, which, upon opening the door, must be her office. Her shiny nametag is proudly displayed on the left hand corner of her desk, and her degree is framed and hung on a wall.

            She closes the door behind me, and then sits behind her desk, motioning to the chair in front of it. “Have a seat, Gerard.”

            “Okay,” I mumble, walking over and sitting down.

            “How are you feeling?” she begins.

            “Alright, I guess,” I murmur. As good as someone can be in a fucking psych ward.

            She asks blatantly, “Have we been having any incidents with self-harming recently?”

            “No,” I lie. “I haven’t for a while, actually.”

            “Good,” Dr. Hayward says. I feel bad because she sounds like she’s really so happy for me and proud of me.

            I look down, inspecting my fingernails.

            “No…. suicidal thoughts?” she asks.

            I shake my head. “None.” I look up to see her writing furiously.

            “Anything… you feel like you need to talk about?” she proceeds. She cocks her head, giving me a compassionate look. “Anything you need at all, Gerard?”

            God, yes. “No; I’m fine. Look, the entire reason why I’m here is a big misunderstanding. I’m over all of that shit.”

            She smiles and nods, telling, “You know Gerard, I’m really proud of you. You keep the good work up, okay?”

            God, the guilt burns so bad I fear it’ll bore a hole through my stomach. “Alright.”

            “Well, I’m happy to say, you’re approved for discharge. And, I don’t recommend any therapy, since you’ve been doing so well. But just to be sure, check with your health care provider in a few months,” she admonishes.

            “Alright,” I agree, still feeling like shit. I stand, heading back to my hospital room.

            Frank comes at 5:00, and it takes about fifteen minutes for me to get all of my shit gathered. They hand me my bag full of posessions back, and send me off to change.

            As Frank and I walk to a restroom, I remark,

            “Wow, I can’t believe that I get to change without someone watching.”

            Frank chuckles, adding, “Can I watch?”

            I open the bathroom door, jerking my head towards the inside. “If you think you can handle it.”

            Frank sits down on the closed toilet seat as I take off my gown. I wish there was an alluring way to do it, but there simply isn’t. I kick off my slippers, which again, aren’t exactly attractive.

            “Mmm, slippers,” Frank purrs jokingly. “Getting me horny.”

            “Down, boy,” I laugh, stepping into my jeans. I wiggle them up to my hips, buttoning them and putting on a shirt. Frank and I leave, and Dr. Hayward and Ray say goodbye to me, Ray being really quiet.

            On the drive home, Frank says, “So, you’re a free man, Gee.”

            “I wouldn’t have to be freed if it weren’t for you,” I grumble.

            Frank glances over at me, worried. He sighs. “Gerard, I _had_ to. How many fucking times do I have to say it?”

            “I don’t know. I wouldn’t know, seeing as I’m just a crazy person!” I yell.

            “Don’t fucking yell at me!” Frank retorts. “Stop!”

            “Why, what’s the matter?! Are you afraid of me, Frank?! Is that why you sent me away!?” I scream.

            Frank pulls over, putting the car in park. He slams his hands on the steering wheel, then gripping the top portion so tightly that his knuckles go white. He starts to sob, his shoulder blades heaving up and down.

            “Perfect, fucking perfect, you’re going to cry now,” I scoff.

            Frank looks up at me, his green eyes spilling over with tears. “Fuck you, Gerard.”

            The words are a dagger in my chest. “Frank?”

            “Fuck you,” Frank repeats. “I… I try to be a good fucking boyfriend, and this is my reward. You acting like an ass.” He turns away, crying.

            “Fuck, Frank, I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I’m just…. emotions are running high, y’know?” I reach a hand out and touch his head.

            Frank smacks my hand away. “Don’t.”

            “Frank, I’m your boyfriend,” I say, my voice catching in my throat.

            “You know what?” Frank asks. He looks up at me. “Not anymore. Just…. I’m done. Fuck, Gerard, I can’t handle this shit.”

            “No,” I plead, starting to cry. “Frank, I’m sorry! I promise, I won’t self-harm anymore!”

            “It’s a little late for that,” Frank mutters. “Look, I’ll give you a ride home, and that’s it. Then, don’t call me, don’t come to my house, don’t talk to me, don’t even fucking look at me in the hallways, got it?”           

            “But…” I protest. I keel over with gut wrenching sobs. Frank ignores me, starting the car back up.

            The drive to my house is silent, my cries the only audible sound. Frank pulls into my driveway, offering, “Do you want me to walk you in?”

            “No,” I decide. “I’ve got it.” I slowly get out, taking one last look at my boyfriend. “Frank….”

            “What?” Frank asks, looking irritated.

            “Do I look okay?” I question, quoting Frank.

            Frank’s jaw trembles, and then he turns away, starting the car and leaving. For good.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!
> 
> Thanks for reading, though. I'll try to update soon! In the meantime, check out my other fics, and comment.


	16. Chapter 16

I decide to walk over to Jamia’s that night, since I’m a total wreck. I try not to cry on the way there, but I end up thinking about Frank, and by the time Jamia’s mom answers the door, I’m crying so hard that I can hardly talk.

            Jamia’s mom sends me upstairs, calling up the steps, “Jamia, Gerard’s here!”

            When I enter Jamia’s room, she says one thing. “Fuck, Gerard.”

            She wraps me in a hug, kicking her door shut. She places a hand on either side of my face, asking, “What happened?”

            I try to respond, but nothing comes out but whimpering and sobbing.

            She wipes my eyes and smooths my hair with her hand. “Gerard, you have to calm down, baby. What’s wrong?”

            “F-frank,” I cry, my voice trembling.

            “What’d he do?” Jamia questions.

            I keep sobbing, and Jamia swings back, slapping my face.

            I recoil, my fingers lightly touching where I’d been struck. “Jamia?”

            “I’m sorry, Gerard, but you were hysterical,” she apologizes. She sits down, patting the spot next to her. I head over, my tears drying into my skin.

            I sit down, causing the bed to dip further towards the floor. Jamia sets a hand on my knee, giving it a small squeeze.

            “What’d that bastard do?” Jamia says.

            “He……” I start crying again, as reality opens fresh wounds. “He broke up with me.”

            “Gerard, honey, I’m sorry,” Jamia purrs. She lets me rest my head on her shoulder, and she absently strings her fingers through my hair. “Why’d he do it?”

            “I…. I was being a dick. A total jerk. And he just doesn’t want to put up with me anymore,” I sigh.

            “Gerard, this is not your fault,” Jamia assures.

            “Shit, I made fun of him for crying,” I mutter, tracing a circle into Jamia’s sheets with my forefinger.

            “Gerard……” Jamia begins. “That was a shitty thing to do.”

            “Don’t remind me,” I reply. “I also… I totally flipped out on him. I made him feel worse about something he already felt bad about that.”

            “What’d he feel bad about?” Jamia asks.

            “I spent…. I spent the last day in a fucking psych ward,” I admit. “And Frank put me there.”

            “Why in the Hell did he send you there?” Jamia wonders.

            “I…..” I start. I look down and mumble, “I’ve been cutting myself.”

            Jamia looks at me sadly. “Oh, Gerard.”

            “Yeah. And Frank was just trying to keep me safe, and I yelled at him, and he asked for me to stop, and I kept going, and…..” I start to cry again. “I’m such an asshole!”

            “Gerard, you are not an asshole,” Jamia comforts. “If my boyfriend put me in a psych ward, I’d be a little pissed off too.”

            “Yeah, but it was still uncalled for,” I insist.

            “Well, you know, look on the bright side. It’s never too late to try to get him back,” Jamia points out.

            I squint. “So I should grovel?”

            “Not necessarily,” Jamia answers. She pats my thigh, advising, “But it wouldn’t hurt to start off with an apology.”

            At school the next, day, I finally make up my mind. I scan the halls for Frank, and when I see a mop of black hair about five inches below everyone else, I know that it must be him.

            I follow him, finally coming close enough to talk to him. I grab his shoulder, starting,

            “Frank.”

            Frank turns around, sees that it’s me, and rolls his eyes. “Gerard, come on.”

            “Frank, I’m sorry,” I say, ignoring his comment. “You’re right, I was being a dick.”

            “Gerard, it’s too late. Forget about it,” Frank replies.

            “No, I won’t forget about you!” I insist, grabbing onto his hand.

            Frank tears his hand away. “It’s over. I’m done taking care of you.”

            Frank backs up. I now notice that several kids are watching us.

            “Just leave me alone,” Frank says. He walks away, and something inside me tells there’s no use in going after him.

            At lunch, I tell Jamia,

            “Apologizing didn’t work. He blew me off.”

            “So he’s playing hard?” Jamia asks. “Then you have to play hard as well.”

            “It’s hopeless,” I whine. “He’s given up on me. On us.”

            Jamia takes me by the collar, pulling my face in close to hers. “Gerard, you love Frank, right?”

            “Well, yeah,” I answer. “Of course.”

            “And he left you, and that sucks, but you can’t sit on your ass moping! You have to do something!” Jamia slaps me, proceeding, “If you really love him, you’ll fight for him!”

            “Jamia, that… that struck a chord with me,” I admit.

            Jamia brightens.

            “But you didn’t exactly have to slap me,” I point out.

            Jamia’s face falls. She releases me, muttering, “Sorry. I just wanted to give a beautiful dramatic speech. The slap was for effect.”

            We sit there quietly.

            “So, are you going to do it?” Jamia questions.

            “Huh? What?” I respond.

            “Are you going to fight for Frank?” Jamia demands. “Tell me.”

            “Yes,” I decide. “Till the death.”

            Jamia slugs me on the shoulder softly. “I want more than that!”

            “What do you mean?!” I reply. I thought of that line before saying it, and I thought it was very romantic.

            Jamia lifts her carton of milk into the air. She clinks it against my head, responding, “May death never stop you.”

            Later that night, I think about exactly what she meant. That… if something really matters to you, you’ll keep fighting. No matter what. Even if you die, or something you love dies… you can keep it alive. As an idea. So nothing’s ever truly dead, as someone, living or deceased, will always remember it.  

            Frank and I, our love isn’t dead. It lives on in both of us. And, as long as it lives, there’s a chance that it can be brought back. All I have to do is reignite that fire, that passion, and we can put this whole miscue behind us.

            But…. The thing about things that live on in people, sometimes, they can’t be brought back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'll try my best to update soon!   
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	17. Chapter 17

I avoid Frank at school, because I know that he would just duck away into a classroom or become invisible in the wave of students. So I decide to wait until a while after school, just to make sure he’s home. I walk to his house around 4:00, a half an hour after school’s out.

            I knock on his door, rocking on my heels with nerves.

            Frank answers, and instantly looks annoyed. “What do you want?”

            “Can I come in?” I ask.

            Frank looks around behind him. I see him glance back into the living room, where his dad sits, watching TV. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea….”

            I step forward, forcing Frank to step back. I close the door behind me, saying, “Look, Frank. We shouldn’t have broken up over something like that. I regret it, and I’m sure you regret it, too.”

            “I regret nothing,” Frank replies.

            “Frank, come on. We’re in love. You can’t leave me,” I point out.

            “Watch me,” Frank growls.

            “Look me in the eyes, and tell me you don’t care about me,” I challenge.

            Frank is quiet.

            I grab him by the shirt, lifting his heels off of the ground. “Tell me you don’t care what happens to me!”

            A tear slides down Frank’s face, but he holds eye contact.

            I tackle him, pinning him to the floor. “So if I go home, and I take my dad’s shotgun and shoot myself…” I start to cry as well. “My brain paints the wall, my head is blown to smithereens, and a piece of my fucking skull is thrown across the room! I dare you to tell me you wouldn’t care!”

            Frank gazes back into the living room, to see his dad now watching us. With that, Frank turns to me and declares, “I wouldn’t care.”

            “Fuck you!” I spit.

            Frank uppercuts me beneath the chin, blowing me off of him. He stands, ordering, “Get the fuck out of my house, you faggot.”

            I stand as well, towering over Frank, who refuses to cower.

            “You are a different person than the one that I love,” I state. “I remember a scared little boy, one who was dying for some affection, and did a great job of giving some away as well.”

            Frank bows his head, allowing his tears to roll off his face and onto the hardwood floor, splattering the oak. He clenches his fists, and tells coldly, “If you don’t get out of here right now, I’ll kick your fucking ass.”

            “Fine,” I reply. I take a step towards the door, and then turn my head over my shoulder to look at Frank. “But if you hear something on the news tonight about a fifteen year old boy found dead in his room….” I turn the doorknob, muttering, “Just remember to wash the blood off your hands.”

            I walk home, tears rushing down my face. I arrive, and no one’s in the living room to see me bawling. I walk into the basement, and no one’s there to see me grab dad’s shotgun and a box of bullets. I go up the stairs, and no one’s there to see me load it. I close the door to my room, and no one’s there to see me lock it. I turn on my CD player, and no one’s there to hear “What A Catch, Donnie.” I lay on the floor, and no one’s there to see me press the head of the shotgun into my mouth. I start to cry, and no one’s there to hear me. I pull the trigger, and no one’s there to see it.

_I’ve got troubled thoughts and self-esteem to match, what a catch_

_What a catch_

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            The safety’s on. I lie there, brain still intact, head untouched. I hurl the shotgun across the room, rolling into a fetal position and crying. I cry so hard that I start to dry heave, eventually throwing up beside where I lay.

            After about ten minutes of crying, I hear the turning of my doorknob, followed by a banging.

            “Go away, Mikey!” I sob.

            “GEE!?! Are you okay!?” a voice that _does not_ belong to Mikey screams. Their voice cracks and wavers to the point that I can tell they’re crying as well.

            I try to make out who it is. It’s not my mom, the voice isn’t loud enough. It’s not my dad, the voice isn’t dry enough. It’s not Jamia, the voice isn’t childish enough. It must be….

            “Frankie?” I ask.

            “Gerard?! Oh thank God!” Frank shouts.

            I unlock the door, and open it to see Frank standing there. Congealed blood is dried against his face, coming from his nose. His eye is bruising over; I can tell by its sickly, greyish shade. His eyes are red and glazed over with tears.

            Frank smiles at me weakly, and then his eyes catch the shot gun. He looks as though he’s been punched in the gut. He looks at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. Then he gives me a huge hug, lifting me off of the ground in the embrace. He twirls me around, then putting me down as he repeatedly kisses me on top of the head.

            “Oh my baby!” +kiss+ “I can’t believe” +kiss+ “I almost lost you!” +kiss+ “I’m so sorry!” +kiss+ “About everything!” +kiss+ “I’ll never be a dick again!” +kiss+

            I just let him lay on the kisses, because with the state that I’m in, I could use them. I squeeze him, burrowing my face into his chest and inhaling his sweet aroma. We cry with each other, and I thank the Lord that no one’s home to see us.

            By the time we’re done sobbing into each other and apologizing, it’s dinner. I text Mikey, to figure out that they all went to watch Mikey play pep band at the basketball varsity game and won’t be back until 10:00. Gerard and Frank both strip to their underwear just because they can.

            Gerard gives Frank a piggy back down the steps, and they stop in the kitchen, looking for food. They end up making pizza, and they take it up to Gerard’s room, where they watch Hotel Rwanda for the 80th time.

            They fall asleep, but not before returning the shot gun to its spot in the basement, and flushing all of the bullets down the toilet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon, so in the meantime, check out my other fics!


	18. Chapter 18

            FRANK’S P.O.V.

            (After Gerard left my house)

            As soon as Gerard leaves, the heavy door slamming loudly behind him with a booming echo, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake.

            “Shit!” I curse, stepping into my shoes.

            “Hey, watch your fucking mouth!” my father barks.

            I hurry past him into the kitchen, grab my keys, and am on my way to the truck when he grabs me by the collar of my shirt.

            “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he demands icily, the stench of stale beer in his breath pungent.

            I don’t have an answer for him. Well, let me rephrase that, I don’t have an answer that he’ll approve of. Because the truth is, I’m heading over to my ex-boyfriend’s to possibly keep him from killing himself and to become “an item” again.

            “Don’t tell me you’re going to see that little fag that was just here,” he assumes.

            When I don’t answer, it totally gives it away.

            He smacks me in the nose, screaming,

            “You faggot!”

            I remain standing, still having stumbled back from being hit so hard. He punches me once more in the eye, which brings me to the ground, the keys flying out of my hands. I see stars as I try to make out where the keys landed.

            “I knew you were fucking that prick!” my father roars. He kicks me in the face, and again, my vision and brain go fuzzy. I desperately and blindly grope around for the keys, my fingers finally closing around metal.

            “Oh, no you don’t,” my father snickers. He snatches the keys from my unsuspecting hand. He kicks me in the stomach, which makes me gag and cringe in pain. It’s just now that I realize that my nose has been gushing blood since he first struck me.

            “You’re a pussy, Frank,” he says. “A total disappointment. I wish I’ve never had children!”

            Something inside me snaps. I manage to get to my feet and kick him swiftly in the crotch, retorting, “Fuck you! You’re not my dad!”

            I bolt for the door, and I hear my dad yell,

            “Don’t bother coming back here, you little fucker!”

            I run all the way to Gerard’s house.

            GERARD’S P.O.V.

            I wake up early the next morning, at 6:00. I usually don’t leave for school until 7:50, but I can’t force myself to go back to sleep. It’s selfish; but I get so bored that I wake Frank up.

            The first thing Frank does is smile at me. “Hey, Gee.”

            “Frankie,” I breathe. I grin back, rubbing his arm as I say, “You look gorgeous.”

            Frank chuckles sheepishly, replying, “You too, babe.”

            “So….” I begin. “How come you came over yesterday with your face covered in blood?”

            “My dad….” Frank starts timidly. He picks at his fingers as he proceeds, “He found out we’d dated and… he _flipped_ out.”

            I smile sadly. “I could tell.”

            “He told me not to come back,” Frank half-laughs half-cries. He chuckles humorlessly as his eyes well up with tears.

            “Come here,” I say, hugging Frank. He sobs into my shoulder, hugging me back tightly and clutching the back to my shirt.

            “You know, you can always stay here,” I remind. “We’d have to run over to get your stuff, but other than that, I don’t see a problem.”

            “I just don’t wanna leave home,” Frank cries. “I know they’re terrible, but they’re my parents.”

            “Frank, those bastards are _not_ your parents. Okay? Especially your dad. He’s a sick fuck. Alright?” I ask.

            Frank sniffles and nods, continuing, “But…. I know it’s fucked up, but I’ll miss them.” Frank turns away, muttering, “You wouldn’t understand. You’re not fucked up like me.”

            I wrap my arms around Frank. “Babe, I just got out of a psych ward. I think it’s pretty fair to say that I’m fucked up.” I kiss him on the cheek, rubbing my hands up and down his sides. I rest my head on his shoulder, peeking up at him. “But that’s okay.”

            Frank cries, and I let him, because I know that sometimes, all a person needs is a good cry.

            I ask him, “Do you want to go over later to pick up your stuff?”

            Frank wipes his nose on his sleeve like a little kid and nods.

            “Okay,” I reply, kissing him again. I lock my hands together on Frank’s hipbone and hold him close.

            We decide to go after school the next day to gather Frank’s things, while his parents are still at work. I still haven’t asked my mom if it was okay for Frank to be at our place, but knowing her, she’ll be happy to take him. She doesn’t even know he ever started bullying me; in her mind, we always were and are still currently best friends.

            Frank stuffs all of his clothes into every backpack he can find. We put them all into the shopping cart we brought, which we nicked from a Walmart parking lot, and throw a lot of his other stuff in there as well.

            Frank takes a look back at his room, which is stripped bare, and looks like he’s about to be sick. He turns to me, his eyes pleading, “Can we go already?”

            I take his hand and lead him out.

            We unload the shopping cart at my house, shoving the empty cart into my closet. Hey, that has to come in handy sooner or later.

            Frank lays on my bed with me, saying dreamily,

            “Gee, you’re the best boyfriend a kid like me could ask for.”

            “What do you mean a ‘kid like you?’” I ask, dodging the compliment and switching the subject altogether.

            “Well, you know, a kid from a broken home,” Frank replies. “I don’t deserve someone like you.”

            I take his hand, holding it to my chest. “Sure you do,” I assure. “Frank, you really don’t see how special you really are.”

            “Thanks,” Frank responds. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” He rolls over to face me, propping his head up with one hand. “You know, since I started being a total asshole, no one’s had anything good to say about me, really.”

            “I have good to say about you. My mom does. Jamia does,” I point out.

            Frank smiles, letting out a deep breath as he tells, “I’m glad we have each other.”

            “Me too,” I agree, slipping beneath his arms.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it!
> 
> So, I'll try to update really soon.


	19. Chapter 19

Somehow, word got out about me going to a psych ward for 24 hours. Honestly, the hospital staff aren’t supposed to tell anyone, and my mom has a pretty big mouth, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she told everyone.

            But after being in a psych ward, and when kids find out, it doesn’t make them any nicer to you. The girls were really kind, actually, but sort of in a condescending, trying too hard way. They even sat with me at lunch, saying things like,

            “Oh you poor thing.”

            And “How was the treatment?”

            And of course, “Gerard, you’re crazy, right? Can you explain this to me….”

            Frank, along with Jamia, just mimicked them behind their backs the entire time, and those two girls never found out why I was laughing so hard at their questions.

            The boys, on the other hand, aren’t so innocent. I get called “psycho”, “freak”, and “creep” more than I can count. Not only that, but I’m unlucky enough to run into Shane during break period, which we have outside. He bumps into me on purpose, nearly bringing me to the ground.

            “So, I heard you finally went crazy, Way,” he sneers.

            I can feel myself redden. I know that it’s useless to fight against him, so I decide to take the begging route. “I have to go.”

            “I have to go,” Shane repeats in a high voice, mocking me. Other kids start to watch or laugh, and I just blush more.

            “Tell me, what’s it like to be a 90 pound psychopath?” Shane snickers. “I’m just dying to know.”

            “I’m really not in the mood for this,” I growl, pushing past him.

            He catches me around the waist, hurling me back into my position. “I wasn’t done with you, freak!”

            “You know what, fuck you!” I shout.

            Shane’s eyes narrow, and his hands clench into fists. He slugs me in the stomach, and I find myself doubling over.

            He elbows me sharply in the back, between my shoulder blades, and I go down to my knees. He kicks me in the jaw, sending me to the concrete.

            He kneels next to me, squeezing my cheeks between one of his massive hands. “Don’t give me anymore trouble, little girl.”

            “Hey!” Frank barks. He runs towards Shane, flinging himself at the towering boy. He actually manages to bring him to the ground, and once Frank’s on top of him, he’s a blur of fists and obscenities.

            “Frank!” I exclaim. I stand, grabbing Frank by the shoulders and attempting to pull him off of Shane. I finally manage to grab beneath his armpits and lift him off of Shane, who stands, his nose bloodied.

            “You’re fucking dead, Iero! Just watch!” Shane shouts. He kicks over a nearby trashcan, causing trash to fly across the pavement. He storms inside, his big feet stomping loudly.

            “Frank! He’s going to kill you, you know that, right?” I question.   

            Frank smiles at me crookedly. He steps on top of my feet to lift himself high enough to kiss me. “I know. I don’t care.”

            The next day proves to be even worse than the previous day. Shane somehow manages to pit the football guys against us. Even though the season’s long over, they still wear their letter jackets.

            They corner Frank, Jamia and I at lunch, sitting at our table, two standing behind us to assure we don’t run away.

            “Hey, faggots,” one of them says.

            “Leave them alone!” Jamia insists.

            “Oh, I like this one!” a boy exclaims. He reaches around and grabs Jamia’s boob, to see her go red and squeak.

            “Get the fuck off of her!” Frank demands, shoving the larger boy. He kicks him hard in the shin and punches him in the jaw in the flash of an eye.

            “Jamia, are you okay?” I ask, grabbing her arm.

            She nods, her face still crimson. I can see tears beginning to well in her eyes, and I fucking lose it.

            I join Frank, curb stomping the kid while Frank kicks him in the side. His buddies drag us away, and haul us to a vacant locker room.

            One of them slams me against a locker, punching me in the nose. My knees give, but he pulls me to my feet by the collar of my shirt, nailing me again in the gut. His friend joins in, him holding me upright while the other continues to hit me. I don’t even bothering to remember where, because everywhere hurts.

            I see Jamia come in, watch her get picked up by some other guy and carried away. I see Frank on the ground, a huddle of boys surrounding him and kicking him in the ribs and stomach.

            I feel faint when the boys finally stop, realizing,

            “Shit, he’s fucking losing it! Let’s go!”

            They grab their friends on their way out, and Jamia is put down as the jocks retreat.

            I manage to walk over to Frank, and collapse next to him.

            Jamia hurries over, worrying, “Are you guys okay? Come on, let’s get you to the nurse.”  

            “Fuck that!” Frank protests. He presses his elbow against the floor, attempting to stand, but falls back onto his stomach.

            “You guys are fucking covered in blood, you _need_ to see a nurse,” Jamia insists.

            I shake my head, agreeing, “Frank’s right. Last thing we want is the school being involved, I know from experience; they don’t do shit other than send you to counseling.”

            “Did you… was that from me?” Frank questions, voice soft.

            I feel a lump in the back of my throat, because the experience came from when I had tried to tell on Frank and his friends bullying me in eighth grade. “Yeah.”

            “Well, you can’t stay in class like this. Gerard, we’re going to your house. I’ll drive,” Jamia orders. She helps us to our feet and assists us in limping down the hallway and slipping out of the school before lunch ends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon, but in the meantime, check out my other fics.


	20. Chapter 20

“Honestly, one of you could’ve been really hurt,” Jamia mumbles, dabbing at Frank’s  stomach with a wet washcloth. Frank lies on my bed, shirt rolled up to his chest, revealing the cuts and bruises from being kicked so many times.

            “Yeah, but we’re not,” I point out. I treat myself, smudging peroxide onto the cut on my nose. I cringe at the stinging sensation that immediately takes place.

            “What were those assholes thinking?” Jamia wonders.

            “They thought, ‘Hey, if Shane hates Gerard and that midget kid, we should too!’” Frank answers, mimicking a deep voice.

            I chuckle, agreeing, “Basically, that’s what happened.”

            “Well, if they give you any more troubles, I’m going to the principal,” Jamia insists.

            “What?” I ask.

            “You can’t do that!” Frank protests.

            “I can, and I will,” Jamia replies.

            “Jamia, if the school finds out, not only will they cease to do anything to stop it, but they’ll tell the jocks, and they’ll, in turn, beat the snot out of us,” I explain. “No one wins in that predicament, Jamia.”

             Jamia sighs, running a hand through her bangs. “Well, then what do you suggest we do?”

            “Wait it out?” I suggest.

            “That’s a terrible idea!” Jamia responds.

            “Shit, sorry,” I mutter. “Well, I dunno. I want to avoid a fight, that’s for sure.”

            “You want to avoid a fight?” Frank questions.

            “Well, yeah, duh,” I reason. “Of course. You don’t?”

            Frank shakes his head vigorously. “I’ll fight the; I don’t care.”

            “Why in God’s name would you want to fight a bunch of dumb jocks?” I ask.

            “Why wouldn’t I want to?” Frank counters. “I can beat their dumb asses into the ground.”

            “Violence doesn’t end violence,” I point out.

            Frank stands, flipping his shirt back down. He passes me, retorting, “Things in motion tend to stay in motion.”

            “Where are you going?” I ask.

            “Bathroom,” Frank calls, already on his way down the stairs.

            I sit down heavily next to Jamia. I rest my head on her shoulder, whining, “Jamia? What are we supposed to do?”

            Jamia wraps an arm around me, pulling me closer. “Well, I suppose it’d be smart to avoid a fight. But at the same time, it’d be nice to support your boyfriend.”

            I groan, complaining, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

            “Do what you think is right,” Jamia admonishes.

            I sit up and look at her, beginning in a serious tone. “Jamia?” I laugh and add, “That may be the most cookie cutter bullshit advice I’ve ever received.”

            Jamia deadlegs my thigh, which makes my entire leg go numb. “Gerard?”

            “Yeah?” I wheeze, clutching my leg.

            “Your nose is still bleeding. You should probably put a bandage on it,” Jamia advises.

            I flip her off as I slowly stand, limping to the bathroom.

            Frankie’s still in there when I arrive, the door wide open as he relieves himself. I walk up behind him and rub his shoulders.

            He moans out a little bit, complimenting, “You’re fucking good at that, Gee.”

            “I’m not fighting those kids with you,” I say.

            Frank moves out from underneath my hands, flushing the toilet and zipping his pants. He steps over to the sink, washing his hands. “Do what you want to do. All I know is that Ieros stand up for themselves.”

            “Well Ways tend to avoid problems until they go away maybe sometimes,” I reply.

            “That’s a terrible way to live life,” Frank scoffs. “Always in fear? Praying for a magical solution to problems that will never be solved?”

            I sigh, begging, “Please Frank, I really don’t want to fight those kids. I just don’t have it in me. You’d know; you’ve beaten my ass so many times that I’ve lost count.”

            “Way to dig that up,” Frank murmurs.

            “Frank, it’s just that I can’t do it,” I tell.

            “Sure you can,” Frank insists.

            “No, I can’t,” I repeat, putting an emphasis on the word ‘can’t’.

            “One can do anything they set their mind to,” Frank informs.

            “This isn’t a mental thing, Frank. They’re physically bigger and stronger than me,” I explain. “They could probably bench my weight.”

            “No, I agree with you. They are physically tougher than you and could physically defeat you. But you give up right away, don’t even try to stand up to them or challenge them at all. You have to stop letting them do this to you. You’re just a little defenseless puppy being kicked around,” Frank says. He shoves me, adding, “It’s time you bite back, Gerard.”

            “What are you doing?” I demand. “I recall you getting your ass kicked back there by those dumb jocks, too.”

            “Yeah, but the difference is, I tried to fight back. Remember? But when I picked on you, and other kids pick on you, you just fucking take it! Every single time someone disrespects you, you don’t do shit. When are you going to learn to be a man and fucking respect yourself and fight back?!” Frank shouts. He pushes me again, and I stumble backwards.

            “What the fuck do you want me to do, hit you!?” I snarl.

            “That’s right!” Frank barks. He taps at his jaw, ordering, “Fucking hit me! I doubt that you even have the balls to do it!”

            Jamia walks into the bathroom right as I deliver a blow to Frank’s mouth.

He falls to the ground, clutching at his face and moaning.

“Gerard?! What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Jamia asks.

“He told me to!” I answer. I look down at my fist, to see that it’s trembling.

“What the Hell is wrong with the both of you!?” Jamia yells. She helps Frank to his feet, slapping a handcuff onto his wrist. Before I can react, she grabs my arm and places the other handcuff on me. She closes both of the cuffs, ordering, “You two are working out your shit!”

We stand in silence for a moment, Frank staring blankly at his handcuffed wrist, Jamia crossing her arms and jutting one hip out, and myself watching the two. Finally, Frank questions,

            “Jamia, you just have handcuffs?” He grins and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “That’s kinky.”

            “I got them from your bag,” Jamia retorts, deadpan.

            Frank goes scarlet, and scuffs his shoe against the floor. Jamia waves goodbye, saying, “Knock on the door when you two decide to grow up and put on your big boy pants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon, but in the meantime, check out my other fics!
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	21. Chapter 21

We stand for a moment, neither of us making a sound, but just listening to the other breathe.  The tension in the room is palpable. After about a minute of excruciatingly painful silence, Frank scratching away at the linking chain with a nail file, I decide to initiate the making up session with an apology.

“I’m sorry I hit you, Frankie.”

Frank drops the file in surprise. He recovers and then shrugs his shoulders slowly, allowing them to fall limply at his sides. “I deserved it. I was being an asshole.” He stares at his feet as he murmurs, “Sorry about everything I said about you not being a man.”

“It’s okay,” I reply. I sigh, continuing, “I mean, it’s not like you weren’t right. I’m not a man. I’m just this little boy that lets everyone walk all over me. I’m a pushover.”

“Don’t say that,” Frank pleads. “Really, Gerard, you’re not a pushover or a boy or anything.” He reaches with his un-handcuffed arm and takes my hand, squeezing it. “You’re a sweetheart.”

Frank gets on his tippy toes to kiss me on top of my cheekbone. I melt into a smile, and pull Frank into an open mouthed kiss that lasts for about ten seconds. When he pulls away, he rattles at the chain on the handcuffs, complaining,

“These motherfuckers are in the way.”

“Well maybe we can fix that,” I purr in his ear.

Frank manages to hoist himself up onto the sink, which isn’t easy with the binding handcuffs. He struggles to undo his belt, and after a tiring minute or so, he achieves removing the belt. He rolls his pants off, stripping off his shirt as well. He sits on the counter in his blue briefs, smiling at me coyly.

I wrestle off my shirt, which I set on the sink. I fumble with the button to my pants, trying to unbutton it. Finally, Frank reaches forward, ordering,

“Just pull them off.”

He grabs my waistband and yanks them down to my ankles, pulling down my white and black striped boxer briefs in the process.

Frank stares for a moment, never having seen me naked. He goes red, and I go redder. I reach to pull my underwear back up, but Frank stops me, grabbing my wrist. He tugs down his briefs, kicking them off. He then wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him, kissing me.

            He brings me in close, asking, “Do you want to have sex?”

            I gulp, considering the idea. I can’t see any large downsides, so I agree, breathing, “Yeah.”

            “You’re clean, right?” Frank questions, licking my neck.

            I shiver and nod, my entire neck tingling. I open a drawer next to me - my own personal bathroom door. I dig around for a moment until I find the tiny plastic bottle of lubricant. I twist off the lid with my teeth, spitting it out. I insert one finger into the bottom of lube, and then into Frank.

            Frank grabs onto my neck, gripping the back of my hair and hiking his legs up onto my shoulders. He rocks himself back and forth, whining for more. I push in another finger, twisting and scissoring the two. I enter a third, and Frank yelps out a bit, scratching the back of my neck as he holds on as if for dear life.

            “Are you ready?” I ask, stepping even closer to him. My dick stands erect, just teasing the outside of Frank’s ass. I rub lube across the length of my cock and spread it around Frank’s ass.

            Frank nods, muttering, “Do it.”

            I nod and grab onto his thighs, slipping into him gradually. He stretches around me, allowing room. Frank gives a little gasp, and begins to bite his lip. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

            Frank shakes his head, teeth still dug into his bottom lip. “Harder.”

            I slide out about halfway before going back in, and do this a couple of times. I see Frank’s penis aroused but untouched, and grab the head, stroking my thumb softly against the tip. Frank’s hips tremble with pleasure, and his legs shake on my shoulders. I myself start to feel cramped down below, so I thrust harder into Frank.

            Frank whimpers quietly, his eyes screwed shut and face moist with sweat. I’m about to come when I hear,

            “You guys make up yet? I brought sammiches!” from Jamia followed by the door opening.

            I spring out of Frank, placing both my hands instinctively over my crotch. This causes Frank’s connected hand to jerk forward, almost falling off of the sink.

            Jamia sees me, and her eyes shut and face goes crimson as she lets out a surprised squeal. She grips the plate so tightly I’m afraid it might crack. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see anything!”

            “Shut the door!” Frank barks. He searches for his briefs, eyes flashing around the room.

            Jamia blindly sets the sandwiches down on the floor for us before apologizing once more and leaving. Frank and I stare at each other, each of our faces flushed and sweaty.

            “So you don’t think she’s on board with a three way?” I joke, deadpan.

            Frank bursts out laughing, so hard that his ribcage heaves. I start to giggle myself, hugging Frank. We dress and compose ourselves before facing Jamia. As we leave, I smack Frank on the ass. He exhales harshly, telling,

            “That fucking hurt.”

            Jamia is lying on my bed when we see her. Her face is still rosy with embarrassment. She looks up when she hears our footsteps, and again says, “I’m so sorry you guys. If it makes you feel better, I didn’t see anything.”

            “It’s okay,” I assure.

            Frank sits down to her, which forces me to take a seat as well. “It was our fault, really.”

            “You okay with never bringing it up again?” Jamia questions.

            “Definitely,” Frank and I agree in unison.

            Jamia laughs, and Frank chuckles this really girly giggle, which, in turn, results in me chortling along.

            Frank rattles the chain to the handcuffs, asking, “Did you happen to steal the key as well?”

            Jamia grins and nods, unlocking us. She goes home around an hour later, leaving the house to Frank and I. We don’t attempt sex again, just hang out and watch movies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon, but in the meantime, check out some of my other works!
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com My inbox is always open for prompts or talking!


	22. Chapter 22

            I go to school the next day to discover something that Frank was terrified of when we first started dating: the entire school has somehow discovered that we’re boyfriends.

            Jamia is the one to break the news to us. “I don’t know who did it, but someone told.”

            It’s not like we hadn’t figured it out; when I walked into the school, Frank in toe wearing one of my shirts, eyes flickered, tongues danced, and snickers crawled.

            “Good luck to you two boys,” Jamia wishes.

            “Well, as long as we don’t let them bother us, we’ll be fine, right?” I question.

            Frank scoffs, replying, “Obviously you’ve never heard of these things called ‘fists’.”

            I suddenly get nervous, my stomach clenching and throat tightening. “You don’t think anyone would actually pick on us over this, do you?”

            “Of course they would!” Frank answers.

            “Do you even go here?” Jamia adds.

            “Fuck!” I curse. I run some hands through my hair, remarking, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

            “Gerard, calm down,” Frank coaxes, taking my hand.

            I snatch it away, retorting, “I can’t fucking calm down when I know that every jock in this shit hole is looking to beat the snot out of me!”

            “Gerard, come on,” Jamia pleads. “Just… just avoid them. Okay?”

            “They’ll come to me,” I point out.

            “Please?” Jamia begs. Her brown eyes show a mixture of sympathy and desperation. She pouts out her lower lip, batting her lashes persuasively.

            “Fine,” I agree. “I can get through today.”

            Boy, am I going to eat those words.

            In my very first class, I’m lucky enough to have 2 of the jocks that beat us up the other day in there. I go to hand in my spelling sentences, and on my walk back to my desk, one of those gorillas sticks his big foot out into the aisle.

             I bite the bait, tripping over the big oaf and face planting.

            “Jeez, kid, walk much?” the boy who tripped me smirks. The class begins to laugh, the sound bouncing in my ears.

            He offers me his hand, which I take without thinking. He pulls me to my feet and growls in my ear,

            “Suck any good dicks lately, faggot?”

            “Your mom’s, yeah,” I snarl without thinking, yanking my arm from his grip. I hurry back to my seat, glancing back at the ape’s desk to see him glaring furiously at me. I turn back to the front of the room, my heart pacing wildly in my chest.

            On my way to lunch, I’m walking down an empty hallway when suddenly; I’m scooped up from under my upper arms and carried into a vacant locker room. One of the three boys pins me to the floor on my back, holding my wrists next to each ear, while the others decide what to do with me.

            “Why not beat the living shit out of him?” the one who’d tripped me asks.

            My eyes visibly widen, and the boy who’d tripped me in class clearly sees that. He grins a bit at my fear. His friend, whom I’ve never seen before, shakes his head, reminding,  

            “No, no, you guys just beat him up a while ago and he about passed out, remember? You told me that.”

            “Let’s stick his head in a toilet,” the boy pinning me suggests.

            “Come on, that’s disgusting!” the unrecognizable boy reasons.  

            “I know,” the boy who’d tripped me declares. He starts to unzip his pants, and my chest tightens in fright.

            “What are you doing?” his friend questions, nerves prickled in his voice.

            “This faggot likes to suck dicks, right?” the boy asks. He pulls his penis out from the slot in his boxers, and takes a step towards me. “Let’s have him suck mine.”

            “Dude, no!” the kid pinning me protests. He shoves his friend back, whose member is hard.

            “Why not?!” he snarls, cock still out.

“We’re trying to teach this kid a lesson, not ruin his life!” the third boy points out.

“Besides, rape, that’s prison time. I’m not going to jail!” the one pinning me yells.

            “Fine!” he hisses, tucking his dick back into his pants. His boner still presses through his zipped jeans.

            “I know what to do,” the boy pinning me realizes. He takes off his shoe and presses it to my face, ordering, “Lick it.”

            “No!” I reply, stomach churning. The shoe has something that looks like shit stuck to the bottom of it, and it’s about an inch away from my nose.

            “He won’t do it,” the boy pouts, dejectedly slipping his shoe back on.

            “Let’s just stuff him in a locker and get it over with,” one sighs.

            “N-n-no, you can’t do that,” I stammer.

            The boy who tripped me ears perk up, a malicious grin sliding onto his lips. “The little freak’s afraid. Let’s do it.”

            They pick me up once again. I cry out, struggling against them. I try to kick them as they carry me, and bite the wrist of one of them. “Help!”

            “He’s squealing now!” one exclaims.

            They open an empty locker, and start to put me in feet first. I plant my feet against the back, screaming, “Help me! Help!”

            “No one can hear you, fag!” a boy tells. He kicks the back to my knee, making my leg momentarily bend. In that moment, they manage to fold my legs like a chair and shove me into the locker, closing the door. They stand against it so I can’t get out, no matter how much I bang on the door and struggle with the inner workings of the handle.

            “Please let me out!” I beg, tears forming in my eyes. I… I can’t breathe. I’m going to suffocate in here! “I think I’m dying, please!!”

            I curl to my knees and sob, the only light streaming in through the three slots towards the top of the locker. My breathing becomes heavy, and before I know it, I’m hyperventilating. I cry out again, tears rushing down my cheeks. I hear the boys’ footsteps leave the room. I’m about to stand and try to open the locker when it opens itself, one of the boys standing there. It’s not the boy who had pinned me, or the boy who had tried to rape me. It’s the boy who had warned them not to beat me up, that I might pass out. He holds out his hand, which I gingerly take. He pulls me to the feet, asking,

            “Are you okay, Gerard? I… I think you’re having a panic attack.”

            I can’t speak, only cry. The boy lays me down on the floor and presses my hand to my stomach, comforting,

            “See? You can breathe. You’re not dying, Gerard. Everything’s okay.”

            “How do you know my name?” I question.

            The boy is hesitant, and then tells, “I’m Jamia’s step brother. My name’s Christian.”

            I’m quiet for a long time. Jamia has a step brother? She never told me. What’s he doing hanging out with such shitty kids?

            “Please don’t tell Jamia,” Christian pleads. “She can’t know that my friends are the ones to beat up you and Frank.”

            “How do you know Frank?” I ask cautiously, pointedly ignoring his groveling.

            “Well, Jamia talks about you guys all the time,” Christian explains. “How can I not know who you two are?”

            “What are you doing hanging out with dick bags like that?” I wonder aloud.

            “I know they’re jerks,” Christian admits. “But… no one else cares about me. Even Jamia can’t stand me.”

            I abruptly feel bad for Christian. I hug him, telling, “You can sit with us at lunch. I won’t tell what happened. Okay?”

            “Okay,” Christian smiles, standing. He helps me to my feet and leads me out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon. 
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	23. Chapter 23

           Christian was right; when I show up to lunch with him, while Frank is friendly towards the stranger, Jamia shows nothing but utter contempt for him. He leaves, saying,

           “Bye guys.”

           “Later,” Frank calls.

            “Yeah, see you,” I dismiss.

            Jamia waves, but as soon as he’s out of earshot, she hisses,

            “Gerard? Why’d you bring him? I hate that kid.”

            “Why do you hate him?” I ask.

            “He’s a giant dick who hangs out with dicks and acts like a dick with said dicks!” Jamia answers.

            “He’s nice to me!” I insist, omitting the fact that he and his friends had bullied me.

            “He’s two faced!” Jamia retorts. “Trust me, I have every reason to hate him.”

            “Christian seems like a good guy,” Frank cuts in.

            “You’re not the one who lives with him,” Jamia growls.

            Frank rolls his eyes, and I let out an angry huff. Why won’t Jamia just give Christian a break? The bell rings, and we part, Frank and I glaring at Jamia, who glares back because she believes she’s right.

            Over the next few weeks, I wait. I just anticipate Christian stabbing me in the back. Metaphorically, of course. Or perhaps not. I even get into late night texting conversations with him, where I reveal my former depression and how I don’t have a permit even though I’m a sophomore and all of that jazz. I load him full of social ammo and just wait for him to pull the trigger.

            But the thing is, he never does. Three weeks later, he knows I’m gay, he knows about my depression, he knows about Frank bullying me, and he knows about Frank taking me to the psych ward and everything. He knows about us breaking up, what I had said, what Frank had said, how he’d started crying and I’d been a dick about it. He knows practically everything about my relationship with Frank, way more than I ever should have told him. And he doesn’t do anything with the information I give him. It enrages me to a point; if he’s not a jerk, then what, exactly, does Jamia have against him? I consider asking her, but she’s such a bitch to him whenever I invite him to our lunch table, I should probably keep the subject off of Christian when talking to her.

            Christian invites me to a party at his house Friday. “You can bring Frank if you want. It starts at 9:00 tonight.”

            “9:00? That’s awfully late, isn’t it?” I ask.

            Christian giggles, replying, “Of course it isn’t. You’re in high school now.” He waves goodbye, reminding, “Remember, bring Frank.”

            As I walk to my next class, I can’t help but wonder why Christian was so infatuated with me taking Frank with me. I figure maybe he’s just closer to Frank than me, which gives me a tightening feeling in my chest because I told him everything. My chest gets even tighter when I realize I’m going to my first high school party, but with anxiety rather than envy.

            I tell Frank at lunch, who is pretty excited. “Oh, I haven’t been to a party in forever!”

            “You’ve been to a party?” I question, gaping.

            “Yeah, of course. You haven’t?” Frank replies.

            I shake my head. “Can’t say I have.” I turn to Jamia. “J-Bell, are you going?”

            Jamia shakes her head. “Nah.”

            “Why not?” Frank whines, shaking her arm as if this would convince her to go to Christian’s party.

            “Christian’s running it. I hate Christian. He’s a douchebag,” Jamia scowls. She twirls a strand of hair in between her thumb and forefinger, continuing, “I wouldn’t have fun.”

            “You…. It’s at your house, isn’t it?” I ask.

            Jamia shakes her head. “No, his dad’s house. It’s 285 210th Street. Big brick house. Outside of town, take Rainbow Bridge out of town and just go straight til you see it.”

            I remember this information as Frank and I drive up that night. When we get there, the party had already started; we could hear the muffled music on our walk from the car. There are people parked on the lawn, some in the back of their trucks drinking or smoking. I notice a National Honors Society member doing a line of cocaine off of a notebook. I shudder as we pass, opening the door into the brand new world of a high school party.

            Drugs and drinks are everywhere. There’s a girl doing a kegstand I the living room when I first walk in, and the crowd is so large Frank and I are hugging the walls as we walk through. We find another keg, and Frank pours me a beer, handing it to me. I gratefully take it, giving the alcohol a wary inspecting sniff. Frank downs a gulp, licking the foam off of his lips.

            “Is it any good?” I ask.

            Frank shakes his head. “No, it’s terrible. But it gets you drunk.”

            I pour my drink into a plant when Frank’s not looking. I want to actually remember tonight. If I get drunk, there’s a large possibility that I would land myself smack dab into the middle of some trouble.

            I stand around next to Frank, watching other kids down these drinks. Eventually, I get thirsty, so I walk into the kitchen when Christian sees me. He greets me, sits me down, and pours me some orange juice. My back is turned as he pours it, but he talks to me as he makes it.

            “What’s taking so long? It’s just orange juice,” I mumble.

            “Sorry,” Christian apologizes, handing me the glass. Frank comes over and joins us, and I like the orange juice so much that I knock back six, even though the taste is kind of funky.

            When I stand to go to the bathroom, I stumble, almost falling.

            Everything is in slow motion as Frank asks, “Gee? You okay?”

            I nod, replying, “Yeah. I’m okay.” I grip the walls to support myself as I make it to the bathroom. By the time I’m done peeing, the floor is spinning. I close my eyes, but the world continues to whirl. My final memory is staring at my blurred reflection in the mirror before I black out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I should update soon. 
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	24. Chapter 24

            FRANK’S P.O.V.

            “Gerard’s been gone for a while,” I mutter. I check my cellphone clock, to see that he’s been gone for fifteen minutes. Maybe he went to throw up? But I didn’t think he drank any. I figure he got preoccupied in the party and am about to go look for him when Christian returns, asking, “Hey, Frank. Can you get a sweatshirt for me out of my room? This girl is passed out in the yard.”

            “Sure,” I answer. “Where’s your room?”

            “Down the back hall, third room on the left,” Christian directs.

            I cut through the living room. Past the bathroom where the muffled cry of vomiting rins through the air, down one of the bedrooms where people are clearly having poor sex, and then, finally, to Christian’s bedroom.

            I open the door to see Gerard sleeping, hair a mess, shirt off, covers pulled up to his ribcage. I’m shocked, but not as stunned as when I notice the random ass guy sleeping next to him.

            GERARD’S P.O.V.

            I wake up to Frank’s yells. I blink myself awake in time to catch Frank standing in front of me, eyes red, and mouth flapping. I manage to make out,

            “Fuck you, Gerard!” from Frank.

            My head pulses with Frank’s words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I look around to try to figure out where I am, since it’s definitely not the bathroom. That’s when I realize I’m in an unfamiliar bed with a stranger in my underwear. I struggle to pull up memories of before I’d passed out, but I can’t. All I remember is drinking lots of tangy orange juice before blacking out. I try to bring back any thoughts of sex with this stranger, but I can’t. Either it didn’t happen and for some inexplicable reason we wound up in the same bed, or I am a filthy, forgetful cheater. “Frank, I don’t think this is what it looks like.”

            “Don’t think!?” Frank exclaims.

            “I can’t remember what happened,” I moan, rubbing my pounding head.

            “You can’t even remember fucking this guy who was just _soooo_ good that it was worth throwing our relationship away?!?” Frank cries, tears rushing down his face. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t ask you how it was.” He leaves with that, so I spring out of bed, following him.

            My knees are a bit weak, so it takes me a while to catch up with him. We get some strange looks, a crying punk kid being followed by a scrawny boy in his blue underpants throughout the house. I manage to grab his elbow by the time we’re outside, pleading,

            “Frank, I want to talk about this!”

            “Don’t you dare fucking touch me!” Frank spits. He wrestles his arm from my grasp.

            “Frank, come on, we need to work this out!” I argue.

            “You don’t fucking get it, do you? I… I let you into my life, I fucking drag you along kicking and screaming through therapy, I let you take me away from my family and…. For what?! So you could break my heart into smithereens? Well, I’m not having it! I’m going home and getting my shit from your house!” Frank rants.

            I follow him to his truck, begging, “Frank, please think about this! You’re being hasty! I don’t even know what happened!”

            Frank hops into his truck, barking, “Well I do! What happened is Gerard A.K.A. the walking failure fucked up everything once again! No wonder no one likes you; you’re a piece of shit! I hate you!”

            “Frank….” I gasp, my voice catching. I can’t say anything; I want to; but nothing will come out.

            Frank gives me one last look with those giant hazel eyes before slamming on the reverse, pulling out into the street and speeding away.

            I rush into the house, going straight to Christian. I really need to vent. “CHRISTIAN! WE’VE GOT TO TALK!”

            I grab Christian, who looks absolutely terrified for a split second before asking calmly, “What’s wrong?”

            “I…. something happened last night. I can’t explain it,” I reply.

            “What was it?” Christian asks.

            “I passed out… I… I woke up with this random dude,” I share.

            Christian gasps. “You didn’t…. sleep with him, did you?”

            Tears begin to form as I answer, “I don’t remember.”

            Christian hugs me, rubbing my back. “Frank’s upset, isn’t he?”

            “He’s more than upset,” I cry. “He never wants to see me again, I’m sure of it!”

            Christian takes a long time to reply before flatly responding, “My, isn’t that a shame.”

            I sob into his shoulder, rambling on about the fights Frank and I have had and therapy and all these things that don’t even matter anymore because we’re done. Frank and I are over. And I doubt I’m ready to accept that.

            It’s hard, over. I get home that night and end up bawling again, and the only person I want to talk to is Frank. But he’s currently plausibly crying over the situation as well, and, unfortunately, vowing not to let me back. He’d dumped me before, over a petty fight that I had initiated and he had ended with an immediate end of our relationship. But luckily for me, oh, he’d taken me back, and it was all roses and daisies. But now…. I might’ve cheated on the poor kid. He doesn’t even have the assurance of my knowing, simply because I just don’t remember that night.

            I go to bed wallowing in self-pity, remorse, but also self-hatred. If I can’t remember anything, but had slept with the guy, does that make me a piece of shit? Am I a terrible person for this freak happening I have no explanation for? Do I owe it to Frank to just leave him alone forever? Where is he staying now? Is he safe? He didn’t hurt himself, did he?

            I have all of these difficult questions billowing through my mind and not a resolution to a single one of them as I go to sleep that night.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and if you enjoyed it, leave a kudos! I'll be updating soon (T H E E N D I S N E A R I N G F O R T H I S S T O R Y). 
> 
> My tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	25. Chapter 25

            When I go to school that Monday, I pray that Frank will drive by in his big pickup. Unfortunately, even though I search the entire sophomore parking lot, I can’t find his truck anywhere. I make the connection that it’s obviously no coincidence that Frank just so happens to miss school the first day he’d see me after our big fight.

            I plan on omitting the information from Jamia, mainly because it just happened how recently and I’m too upset to talk through it. But at lunch, she can tell something’s bothering me, and I end up spilling my guts.

            Jamia frowns and shakes her head, her brown eyes full of sympathy and her voice tender. “Gosh, Gee, I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

            “He didn’t even come to school today cause he’s probably still too angry to face me,” I tell, tears welling in my eyes.

            Jamia rubs my forearm, and comforts, “Look, I’ll talk to Frank, okay? You have no memory of sleeping with this guy, so it’s likely it didn’t happen. I’ll try to get him to cool it, alright?”

            “Thanks, Jamia,” I sniffle.

            “No problem,” Jamia replies. She hesitates, and then asks, “This all happened at Christian’s party, right?”

            “Yeah, why?” I question.

            “No reason,” Jamia answers, eyes on her phone.

            Frank finally shows up at school the day after. However, I can tell he’s trying to avoid me, because I don’t see him until lunch when he’s sitting with Jamia. I approach, setting my tray down loudly.

            Frank is so startled that he jumps at the noise. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, they look so sweet inside, so I offer a smile. And what does Frank do? He holds his face in a tight pout and orders,

            “Gerard, I’d like for you to leave.”

            “I don’t want to,” I retort, sitting down. At that second, Frank springs up and leaves.

            I follow him, grabbing his wrist and spinning him to face me. I tell, “Frank, I don’t know what happened. I blacked out. But I have no memory of sleeping with that guy.”

            “But there’s still a chance it hppened?” Frank growls.

            I bow my head, and look through tangles of my raven hear with tear slicked eyes, hoping Frank will take some sort of pity on me. “I’m really sorry, Frankie. You know I’d never want to hurt you.” I shuffle uncomfortably, adding, “I don’t really know what you want me to tell you.”

            “You want to know?” Frank demands, tears falling in a heavy river. “I want you to say, ‘Frank, I take full responsibility for my actions. I’m sorry I hurt you. In light of recent events, I have decided to finally leave you alone. Have a happy life.’”

            “You… you want me to go?” I whisper.

            “Yes,” Frank answers coldly. He turns, and before he walks away, he adds over his shoulder, “Stay away, Gerard.”

            So, for about two weeks, I do exactly that. I sit with the hoodrats at lunch while Frank and Jamia sit just a few tables away. It hurts like Hell; because not only do I not see Frank, but I don’t see Jamia.

            I’m on my way home from school one Thursday when Jamia grabs me, panting. “Gerard! I yelled at you to stop walking!”

            I pull out my earbuds pointedly.

            Jamia blushes, her flushed face becoming even redder. “Listen! There’s something really important I have to tell you!”

            “I’m not in the mood,” I growl.

            “Why not?” Jamia questions.

            My jaw drops in shock at how oblivious Jamia is to everything that’s been happening between Frank and I. “Maybe because my fucking soul mate never wants to see me again?”

            “Wait! I can fix that!” Jamia assures.

            I continue to walk, and Jamia skips to keep up with my strides. “Look, Jamia, I appreciate the effort, but there’s nothing you can do to fix this. I fucked up too badly. I don’t know how, but I did.”

            “No, you don’t understand!” Jamia shouts, touching my shoulder. I stop to listen, and she adds, “Christian did it. I know.”

            I turn on a dime, demanding, “Christian did what?!”

            “He drugged you, Gerard. Put Clonidine in your orange juice,” Jamia replies.

            Christian? No way, he’s treated me like a brother ever since Frank left me. I’ve been going to his house almost every day after school. “How can you know?”

            “Uh, because he told me. Don’t treat me like an idiot, Gerard,” Jamia sighs. She whips out her phone, sliding it open and handing it to me. “He texted me, so I have it saved.”

            Jamia: hey gee said something about blacking out?? Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this

            Christian: I didn’t

            Jamia: don’t fucking lie to me

            Christian: well, I did

            Jamia: he didn’t evens sleep with that guy, did he

            Christian: no he didn’t. I did this for a good reason, I swear

            Jamia: whats the reason you prick. Gee is my best friend and you hurt him

            Jamia takes her phone back, stuffing it into her purse. “He hasn’t answered that last part. So there’s your proof.”

            “Still, it’s too late,” I murmur.

            Jamia tsks, muttering, “I can’t believe I have to do this shit again.” She grabs the front of my shirt, lifting my heels off the ground. “YOU LOVE FRANK, RIGHT!?”    

            “R-right!” I stammer, surprised by her assertiveness.

            “You got him back before, you can get him back now!” Jamia yells.

            “Where’s Frank staying?” I question.

            “At my house, so let’s haul ass,” Jamia answers.

            We book it to Jamia’s, actually running most of the way. When we arrive, we stay outside for a moment, Jamia taking the time to straighten my shirt and fix my hair. She kisses me on the cheek, pats my shoulder and encourages, “Knock him dead, tiger.” She hands me her phone and pushes me towards the door.

            I walk in tentatively, calling out, “Frank?”

            No answer.

            I start up the steps, repeating, “Frank? I know you’re here.”

            I sit down at the top of the stairs, beginning, “Well, you obviously never want to see me again, but I’m sure hearing from me wouldn’t be too bad. You didn’t tell me to go away, so you’re at least a little interested in what I have to say.” I take a deep breath, and share, “Christian drugged me. He confessed this to Jamia. That’s why I blacked out.”

            I wait for a reaction before proceeding, “And I know that doesn’t excuse what happened. But the thing is, Christian confirmed this as well, I did not sleep with that guy. I… I don’t know why Christian did this, why he has this eternal vendetta against our relationship but, he did.”

            I stare into the palms of my hands, waiting for Frank to say something. “Maybe you used this as a reason to break up with me when you’ve wanted to for a while.” I start to cry, and tell, “I can’t blame you. I wish I could give you what you deserve.”

            I hear the shifting of weight on a wooden floor, followed by arms being wrapped around me. Frank kisses the top of my head, rubbing my sides and arms. “You give me plenty.”

            I cry even harder because for once, I actually believe him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! 
> 
> The story's really close to being over, like maybe a chapter or two left. Start leaving ideas for a sequel below! I know where it'll take place and the general idea, but any events you'd want to see? Comment or send them anonymously here: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	26. Finale.

I miss Frank so much that I end up staying the night with him at Jamia’s. Can you blame me, I mean, I spent half a month away from the kid. I really want to go and beat the shit out of Christian, but I want to see Frank even more.

            I race to Christian’s house that Saturday morning, since A: I can’t wait until Monday to see him, and not for a good reason, and because of B: I may not want to do this whole confrontation on school grounds.

            When it sinks in that I am, in fact, going to yell at Christian away from school, I stop dead in my tracks. Christian’s bigger than me, by like, a lot, so what happens if he gets upset? He had the audacity to fucking drug me, so I doubt his morals would stop him from beating my ass to a pulp.

            I remind myself that nothing fuels a man like anger does. My rage gives me the courage and incentive to continue to his house. I walk, fists tight, and teeth clenched.           

            I knock on the door, tapping my foot impatiently. Christian answers with a grin. He must think Jamia had kept his deed a secret from me, her best friend. What an idiot.

            “Hey, Gerard. Come in,” Christian greets.

            I take a step inside, gazing around the room. “Are you home alone/”

            “Yeah,” Christian replies. “Why?”

            I shove him, knocking him back onto his ass.

            “What are you doing?!” Christian demands.

            “Jamia told me the truth,” I hiss. “How… how you framed me, made it look like I had hurt the one person I care about most!”

            “Listen, Gerard, I swear, I didn’t do it to hurt you,” Christian swears.

            “”Then why the _fuck_ did you do it?!” I scream.

            “Calm down!” Christian orders. He stands, puffing his chest out to look bigger. He looms over me portentously, almost as if he was purposely taller than me merely to show his dominance.

            “I’m calm,” I lie, gritting my teeth. My fist stiffens.

            “Look, I did it because… you deserve better than Frank,” Christian confides.

            “What?” I growl.

            “You can do better,” Christian reasons, but it doesn’t make any sense to me.

            “How so?” I question.

            “Fucking Frank is an ass!” Christian insists.

            “He is not!” I retort.

            Christian shakes his head violently. “Gerard, he took you to a fucking psych ward.”

            “To help me!” I point out.

            “More like to fuck you over!” Christian shouts.

            “He loves me!” I cry.

            “Is that why he said he ‘couldn’t take you’ and broke up after a little argument?!” Christian yells.

            “I made fun of the poor kid for crying!”

            “He fucking let you try to kill yourself!” Christian roars. “Not to mention, he fucking bullied you for years!” There’s a pause, us staring at each other and panting from the screaming match. He grabs my arms and softly says, “Gerard, honey, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Frank couldn’t care less about you.”

            Christian presses his lips to mine. I pull away immediately, slapping him. Christian reels back in shock, his hand on his cheek, where the skin flames red.

            “Frank… loves me, and I love him back,” I tell icily.

            “How can you know?” Christian whispers.

            “I’ve seen the way he looks at me,” I answer. “He’s held me in his arms and told me he loves me, genuinely. He’s told me things he’d never told anyone. He gave me his darkest demons, and I lent him mine. He would stand up for me when I wouldn’t do so for myself. He believed in me when no one else would. He…. He’s my Frank. And it’s a _privilege_ to be his boyfriend.”

            Christian says nothing, so I take it as an opportunity to leave. I call over my shoulder,

            “Christian, you almost made me lose the most important thing in my life. You hurt me more than Frank ever could. I hope you lose sleep over it.”

            Christian’s crying by the time I walk out that door.

            The next day at school, I suggest,

            “Frank, do you want to go to a boarding school?”

            Frank scrunches his nose. “Like baby college?”

            I chuckle, agreeing, “Yeah, like baby college.”

            “I… I dunno. I don’t have much money, but I have pretty good grades, so….” Frank trails off.

            “I don’t have very good grades, but I have a lot of money,” I counter, taking Frank’s hand and squeezing.

            “Why would we want to go to a boarding school?” Frank asks.

            I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m just tired of the assholes here.”

            “Rude!” Jamia shrieks. “I’m right here!”

            “Not you,” Frank assures, patting her knee.

            I kiss Frank, snuggling up next to him.

            “Get a room!” Jamia crows.

            “Hey, pillowbiters,” someone greets maliciously.

            I look up, pulling away from Frank to see Shane. I stand up, returning,

            “Hello, Shane.”

            “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Shane asks. “You’re getting your gay germs all over the hallway.”

            “Oh, am I?” I ask. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.” With that, I take Shane’s hand, lick my lips, and place a kiss in the center of the back of his hand.

            Shane recoils, screeching in disgust. “You’re fucking gross, Way! You trying to rape me?”

            “Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoff.

            Shane shoves me, barking, “Bring it on, wuss.”

            I consider all of my options. I. I could walk away and tell a teacher. II. I could just take the beating. III. I could wait for him to throw the first punch and then fight back. Or IV. I could initiate the fight.

            Let’s be honest, none of the options are any fun but the fourth one.

            I get expelled; my school has a no tolerance policy towards fights. My mom gives me Hell for it, but when I reveal some of the things this boy has said and done to Frank and I, she understands, even offering to sue him. I decline, since I don’t see any gain out of it for us. Besides, let Shane live his little pathetic life. Jail can wait until he’s an adult.

            Jamia’s dad and stepmother get divorced, which she’s completely fine with, because not only is her dad now dating a much nicer woman, but she doesn’t have to see Christian’s ass ever again.

            My dad retires his shotgun after he finds out I’d tried to off myself with it. He sells it to a local pawn shop, who discover it to be an antique, and he gets a great sum of money for it.

            Mikey finds himself a girlfriend. Her name’s Amelia, and she’s got real pretty eyes and nice hair. I think Mikey really likes her. She must like him, because they go to their school’s Sweetheart Dance together. Mikey goes to me to help pick out an outfit.

            I find Ray and contact him because, Hell, I miss that crazy son of a bitch. His schizophrenia is practically cured, with the aid of medication. I’m glad; he seems a lot less preoccupied and more in tune with the present.

            Oh yeah, and Frank and I go to a separate public school in the city until summer break, which we spend applying for the boarding school. When the envelopes come in the mail about a month later, I make Mikey open both of ours because we can’t bear to look.

            “Dear Mr. Way,

            Lincoln Academy has successfully received and reviewed your application. It is with great pleasure that we inform you that you’ve been accepted into our school. Congratulations! You will be learning among side some of the world’s brightest and most impeccable students of all diversities. Not only do we excel academically, we do exceptionally well in sports, offering over 12 competitive team and individual sports and having won State in cross country the previous year. We have an excellent fine arts program with a prestigious theatre and music productions. We have a 10:1 student teacher ratio and one on one tutoring programs along with online classes. We offer foreign exchange programs as well and a large variety of field trips. We encourage to do your best, and provide our students with the environment to do so.

            Your given information, which is to be mailed in a week, will include the following: visiting dates/arrival times, room and roommate information, a link to a virtual tour of the campus, a student handbook on school policies and dress code, a parent information packet, and a pamphlet of all our available extracurricular activities.

            Any questions or comments? Please, call 787-9488 and consult with our secretary.

            Congratulations once more, and welcome to Lincoln Academy!”

            “Dear Mr. Iero,

            Lincoln Academy has successfully received and reviewed your application. It is with great pleasure that we inform you that you’ve been accepted into our school. Congratulations! You will be learning among side some of the world’s brightest and most impeccable students of all diversities. Not only do we excel academically, we do exceptionally well in sports, offering over 12 competitive team and individual sports and having won State in cross country the previous year. We have an excellent fine arts program with a prestigious theatre and music productions. We have a 10:1 student teacher ratio and one on one tutoring programs along with online classes. We offer foreign exchange programs as well and a large variety of field trips. We encourage to do your best, and provide our students with the environment to do so.

            Your given information, which is to be mailed in a week, will include the following: visiting dates/arrival times, room and roommate information, a link to a virtual tour of the campus, a student handbook on school policies and dress code, a parent information packet, and a pamphlet of all our available extracurricular activities.

            Any questions or comments? Please, call 787-9488 and consult with our secretary.

            Congratulations once more, and welcome to Lincoln Academy!”

           

           

                                                                                                                                                        _ **THE END**_

           

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this story! Sad to see it end, but luckily for all of us, there will be a sequel based on Gerard and Frank's boarding school experience!
> 
> Comment or anonymously send ideas for events/characters in the sequel here: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com/ask

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! New chapter should be up soon, but I'm writing lots of fics right now! Read some of them if you haven't!
> 
> Prompts can be sent here anonymous or not- www.frerard-is-the-weapon.tumblr.com
> 
> Follow my fanfiction blog- www.frerard-is-the-weapon.tumblr.com  
> Follow my regular blog (MCR, Doctor Who, Supernatural)- www.haruka-loves-rin.tumblr.com


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